Lie to Me
by Penelope S Cartwright
Summary: "No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after." "Liar."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. **

**Chapter One: Good For You **

"Good for you," Wilson said, hesitating slightly before walking out the door of the apartment. House could tell his friend was in need of a good, stiff drink or five, but he had just gotten Cuddy back. There was no way he was going to tell her not to come over or, even worse, have her make sad, sympathetic eyes at Wilson while he talked about Sam and how it was his _last_ chance at a happy marriage all evening. Not when he hasn't had sex with Cuddy in two weeks. Wilson understood the 'bro code' and knew House would make up their drinking binge at a later date.

House stood there hearing the last echoes of the door closing. His apartment was silent except for the soft vocals of Jude playing on his stereo. He stood taking in the street light flooding through the windows. He felt his chest tighten as he recalled Wilson's parting words. He was not going to feel guilty for lying to Cuddy. Not now. Not when he got everything right with her. He did the right thing and saved his patient. He lied to his boss, not his girlfriend. Well, he did lie to his girlfriend now, but… He willed his obsessive brain to stop thinking of all the tangents. His leg gave off a twinge of pain.

Trying to distract himself, he limped into the kitchen and pulled out the bottle of Cuddy's favorite wine. It was too sweet for his tastes but he drank it with her all the same. It was overly fruity in flavor and not dry at all. It was a drink a woman could enjoy without guilt or regretting the second glass. He knew she liked it best when they kissed and she could still taste it on his tongue. He uncorked it and set it back in the ice box. Glancing at the clock, he saw she would arrive in ten minutes. Cuddy was always punctual. He reached into one of his cabinets and set their glasses on the island. It was best he was ready when she walked in. He knew she would take it as a sign that he missed her. He did. After their two months of dating he was used to waking up with her there, using his arm as a pillow or cuddled so close to him, her nose was tickling his neck. He was used to settling down on the couch with her after work, watching television or continuing their game partnership. He missed seeing her smile and hearing her laugh as he annoyed her or bitched about his team. Hell, he'd even admit he missed her brat a little. Walking back into the living room, he settled himself on the couch to wait.

_Eight minutes left_.

The look on her face when he apologized had made his day. That simple act of forgiveness had done more for him than her show of bending over her desk in that tortuously sexy dress and her grinding on him at the wedding reception. He was still a hot-blooded male and had thought both actions were ridiculously hot, but at fifty one, that smile meant more to him. It gave him hope that he wasn't going to die alone. _Ugh_, he thought. He felt hope, one of the basest emotions that served no purpose other than to help with survival, giving a person the will to fight for themselves and those they cared for and loved. He was more rational than that. He would fight for those he cared about. He would do almost anything for Cuddy and even Wilson. Honestly, he loved them both, differently, of course. He wasn't going to be misled into thinking that it will all end happily ever after though. Ultimately, it was _never_ going to be okay. No matter what Nolan said, he was always going to be a fucked up, misanthropic bastard.

_Five minutes left_.

What was he going to do the next time he needed to lie to Cuddy because it was the right thing to do? Was he going to let his patient die just for an imbecilic administrative rule? Would he let that person die just to save the hospital's ass and still maintain the trust of his girlfriend? He didn't even need a second to think about it. He would do whatever needed to get his diagnosis and save the patient if he/she were still savable, even if that meant cheating, blackmailing, lying, etc. House was by far not a coward. In simple black and white terms, it was the trust of his girlfriend versus the life of a human being. He knew which the right choice was. Cuddy would argue that the world was not black and white but gray. House had no doubt that she would try to help him with a loop hole or a blind eye if he explained himself thoroughly. She had done so in the past. The only solution he could see for the future would be telling her that he was going to do something dangerously illegal and ask her nicely to turn her back. She would either let him do it, _trusting_ him, or have him escorted out of the building by security and handing the case to Foreman. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

_Three minutes_.

He rubbed what remained of his thigh. The pain was manageable and had never been better. Since his first day with Cuddy, it would amaze him to wake up and only feel his leg stiffen a little. That would usually be forgotten as soon as Cuddy started working on his other stiffness. He smiled wolfishly. His leg felt like a 2 on the pain scale, not the 7 or 8 of yesteryear. At times, he would forget about it entirely. It was a thrilling and frightening feeling. He would blame its current irritation on the weather. It was icy outside. It had nothing to do with the slight guilt he felt. He smirked. Wilson would have a field day psycho-analyzing his condition and the strange "connection," he had to add the quotes mentally, between his leg and his emotional state. His leg hurt because it was cold out. Period.

_One minute_.

Closing his eyes, he could picture her getting out of her car gracefully from where she parked at his curb. She would probably be wearing the same purple shirt that perfectly displayed her breasts. In his imagination he could see her swinging her hips as she climbed the stairs to his building's front door. He heard the actual door slam shut. He opened his eyes and got to his feet. He could hear the click of her heels on the floor outside his door. She knocked twice before he swung the door wide.

Cuddy looked up as the door swung open. She was in the same clothes she wore to work. Her white jacket was pulled close to her body, the belt of it tied snugly to her waist. Her bangs were swept over her left eye.

"Hi," she said throatily.

"Hi," he replied lamely. She was so beautiful. She smirked and lifted a bag in her hand.

"I have dinner if you haven't eaten yet."

He smelled garlic and fresh bread; Italian food made his mouth water. He stepped out of her way and let her in. House helped her out of her jacket, throwing it over to the couch. He locked the door and followed Cuddy into his kitchen. He stayed a pace behind her admiring his view. She laid the bag on his kitchen counter and started to take out the tinned pastas and the Styrofoam boxes of bread along with whatever else she had ordered. He kept out of her way, leaning on the door frame. Cuddy looked _right_ in his kitchen, invading his cupboards for plates and silverware. She stopped momentarily when she saw the wine glasses already out. She glanced at him with a smile before collecting them and placing them near the plates.

"Dinner's served," she said quietly, moving to fill her plate.

"Hold on," House limped towards her.

Cuddy stood up straight, her eyebrows rising towards her hairline in confusion. House stopped directly in front of her. His sharp blue eyes moved all over her face. He could see her wondering what he was up to. Placing his hands on her waist, he pulled her in a bit more and kissed her. There was nothing sexual about the kiss. House didn't try to deepen it. It was sweet and a 'hello' kiss, lips meeting after a two week absence. House pulled away, still smiling. Cuddy smirked at him. She loved seeing him happy and so carefree. He would have never been like this at the hospital.

"I see someone missed me," she started as she piled gnocchi and some antipasto onto her plate. House fit himself next to her and reached over her to get his food, ignoring her eye roll.

"How can I miss you? I see you almost every day," he snarked at her.

She gathered her plate, silverware and glass and moved back towards the living room to eat.

"Sure, you only made puppy dog eyes at me in the clinic whenever I passed."

"I did not!"

House plopped himself next to her on the couch, fork in hand already.

"You and your hand were good company then?"

He gave her the evil eye and shoved a mouthful of the dumplings into his mouth. Cuddy ate hers civilly, savoring the flavors of the antipasto.

"I think I saw Wilson checking up on you earlier. Did he stop by?"

"Yeah, Sam moved out. They had a fight at the wedding and she split."

House made sure not to mention what the fight was about.

"Was he looking for a drinking buddy tonight?" asked Cuddy. "I hope we don't have to bail him out later on."

House laughed. His friend did have the penchant to get rip-roaring drunk and wander off to God only knew where until the police picked up.

"He was. I told him to scram because my woman was coming over. She should be here in a few minutes so you'll have to hide in the closet."

Cuddy laughed but still smacked his arm.

"I'd have your balls in my blender if another woman walked through that door. So what did Wilson and Sam fight about? It had to be something serious."

_Damn it_, thought House.

"Wilson proposed," he blurted out. Cuddy's eyes widened in surprise. "I know, I know, Wilson's a moron."

"Sam left him because he wanted to get married again?"

"Yep." _Basically. _"I told him he was an idiot."

"Wow. Maybe you should go out tomorrow night with Wilson?"

"Are you giving me permission to have a play date and get drunk?"

"You know what I mean. I'm surprised he didn't try to stay here longer."

"He didn't want to hear my witty comments on the bitch."

Cuddy smiled at him. Both had finished their food so she stood to pick up their plates from the small table. House seeing an opening, grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. She made a small grunt as she landed across his legs. She moved into a more comfortable potion on him, resting most of her weight on his left leg, her right arm thrown over his shoulders.

"You jerk," she said, looking at him. He smiled.

"Your jerk." He leaned in kissing the nearest cheek and making his way down her jaw. She let out a breath, tucking her head under to capture his lips. His arms wrapped tighter around her waist, his left moving up her back slowly. Cuddy was holding onto him now, pressing her chest to his. Their kiss deepened; the sounds of their lips and breathing drowning out the music playing behind them. Before either knew it, Cuddy was straddling him, grinding into him in time with their kiss. House had one hand on her waist to keep her flushed against him; the other had made it to her breast.

"House," she gasped.

"Cuddy," he said against her lips. She turned her head. House returned to her neck, kissing his way down to her collarbone.

"We need to clean up and move into your room," Cuddy tried to move away from him. He let her up but tugged her away from the dishes and messy kitchen.

"Let's skip the cleaning and go to my room. Those will be there tomorrow," he answered huskily. She gave him a grin to match the hungry look in his eyes.

"Tomorrow then."

**Author's Note: Another new story but I make no promises in speedy updates since I'm really bad at updating consistently. I'll try my best though. Reviews are very welcomed and through them the author can be swayed in certain directions, for example: what the next chapter starts out with… Thanks for reading! **


	2. Ch 2 Try Not To

**AN: Be gentle, it's my first time. **

**Chapter Two: **

House always marveled at her restraint when it came to her clothes. Unlike him, she always looked her best after leaving the apartment. No wrinkles gracing her shirts or skirts. She was as rigid keeping her clothes wrinkle-free as she was at administrative policy. He had dragged her through the hall and pushed her into his room. She gave him a disgruntled "Hey!" for the push but was already unbuttoning her shirt when she regained her footing. He was undressed and naked in less than a minute, the only difficulty he had was taking off his pants and shoes while balancing with a bad leg and the beginnings of an erection. His clothes littered the floor. Socks, shirt, and briefs were forgotten with every inch of Cuddy's skin revealed. All he cared about was getting in that bed, under soft sheets and in Cuddy. She always took her sweet time; laying every article of clothing flat on his desk. He slid into bed, his back leaning against the headboard to watch her. It was his own private show and he knew Cuddy secretly loved it when he watched her. When she was done with her shirt, she laid it flat and started unzipping her pants.

"Oh yeah, baby, do it nice and slow for Daddy," he told her, eyes never leaving her hands.

She had her pants off when she glared up at him.

"Don't call yourself 'daddy' when I'm about to have sex with you. You realize how creepy that sounds?'

Both her hands unhooked her bra and she laid it on top of her shirt. House felt dizzy momentarily as more blood rushed out of his head and towards the more fun part of his body.

"Huh?" he asked.

"You are so easy," she laughed. She always thought her breasts were one of her best features. They never failed to grab his attention.

She slid out of her panties, leaving them on the floor. She couldn't wear them after their make-out session on the couch anyway. Teasing him further she walked the long way around the bed towards the right side. She saw him swallow. He would never get tired of seeing her like this. Sexy and confident, she stood slim and strong as she sashayed towards him. House silently thanked a deity he didn't believe in for Cuddy loving sex just as much as he did. Cuddy reminded him of a sleek jungle cat as she crawled into bed, her shoulder blades in sharp relief. He slid himself down as she got under the covers and pressed herself to his chest, but still not straddling him as he would have liked. His arms automatically wrapped around her, trying to pull her more on himself.

"Slow down," she whispered to him, leaning down and kissing his unshaven cheek. House growled, turning his head and trying to meet her lips.

"You made me wait two weeks!" he whined.

"It was your own fault; plus you could have just apologized earlier without being so damned stubborn."

She lightly nipped his neck with her teeth. One hand was resting on his chest feeling his heart race, the other on the pillow by his head to keep her balance. She finally moved up to kiss his lips, all slowness dying when House ran his tongue along her bottom lip. Cuddy moved on top of him, feeling his erection trapped between their stomachs. She arched her back, rubbing herself against him and smiled as she heard him inhale sharply. House moaned; his eyes fluttering shut and hands traveling down to grip her ass, holding her tighter to him.

"God, I missed you," he said breathlessly between kisses.

Cuddy moved the hand formerly resting on his chest down to his stomach and further, gripping his cock firmly and stroking lightly.

"Just don't lie to me again," she gasped as he grasped her breasts. His hands stilled momentarily.

"I won't," he leaned up kissing her harder. _I'll try not to, _he thought.

Cuddy's hand was going to be his undoing. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her away from his member. Swiftly, he rolled them in one motion, settling himself between Cuddy's thighs. She made a short grunt as she hit the mattress, but smiled up at him. He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, knowing that wasn't what she wanted. His lips met her jaw and kissed their way down her neck and collarbone. Cuddy was panting with her eyes closed, enjoying the sensation of his lips on her skin and the slight scratch of his scruff. She rested her arms above her head, relaxing totally. He was on his elbows, looking directly at her breast before he spoke again.

"I especially missed you, girls."

Cuddy laughed and then tensed. House took a long lick, his tongue circling each nipple before sucking lightly. She arched into him, the feeling going through all her nerves. She felt him lick and kiss his way down her stomach before she whimpered again, his teeth nibbling on her hip bones. He kissed the sensitive skin above her sex before climbing her body again.

"Why'd you stop?" she pouted, opening her eyes to look into his face.

"I can't wait," he grunted.

He held himself up with his forearms not wanting to crush her petite frame. Both her hands were holding his biceps. She had a light sheen of perspiration on her body making her skin shine in the weak light from the street lamp outside his bedroom window. Her hair was fanned out on _his_ pillow. He took in everything about her and couldn't believe she was right her, under him. With her left hand, Cuddy caressed his cheek.

"House," she whispered, "what's wrong?"

He hadn't realized he had closed his eyes. Her own were a liquid silver, not wavering from his gaze. Without answering her, he pressed more of his weight on her, shifting his hips more, feeling her ready. He felt both her arms reach around him to grip his shoulders. Her breath was hot against his cheek as he lent down to kiss her ear.

"I love you."

House thrust inside her in one smooth stroke. He felt her finger nails dig into his shoulders for a second before she relaxed, a deep breath making him shiver as it hit his shoulder.

"I love you," she replied quietly, her lips brushing his ear.

He kept his forehead pressed to the side of hers and his eyes closed as he thrusted into her. He couldn't look at her. Just the feel of her wet, tight, and moving with him made him want to come too early. The mingled sounds of their pants and groans, the smell of her skin, the way she clutched his back, every single thing wrecked havoc on his self-control. He felt her move her legs around his waist, changing the angle of his penetration. She moaned.

"Harder, House," she keened.

He flexed into her more powerfully. He let out a relieved moan when he felt her start to contract around his member. He could hear her whimper directly in his ear. There was no way in hell he was going to have her question his sexual prowess. Of course, he could have blamed her for their two week abstinence, masturbating not counting… House started to feel the beginning tightness of his own release. He felt Cuddy shudder underneath him and heard her cry out softly, all her muscles clenching. He opened his eyes knowing he was following right after her. Her eyes were half open and glazed over, the dreamy smile of a woman who orgasmed on her face. Sweat was beaded on her forehead and collarbones. He felt her hands run over his back, fingertips ghosting on his spine. He came with a grunt, muscles seizing and all thought blissfully wiped from his mind.

House didn't know how long he lay on top of Cuddy. He felt one of her hands in his hair, fingers playing with the curls at the base of his neck; the other was drifting along his ribs, feeling each bone. He went to pull away from her, but she held him tighter.

"Not just yet, House… I missed this."

He settled back on his forearms trying to not put his full weight on her. It was times like this when he marveled by how petite she was. His whole frame covered her easily. From her toes up, every inch of her body was pressed against his. Maybe it was her ridiculously high heels and the severely straight-backed way she stood as she talked or yelled at him that made her seem taller than he remembered. He rested his head in the crook of her neck placing kisses there lazily. He could taste the saltiness of her skin. They were sated. He could feel the tendrils of sleep invading his tired mind when he heard her.

"I'm surprised you haven't asked me about my marriage yet," she said.

He rolled off of her but spooned against her as they moved to a more comfortable position. Her skin was a little cool to his touch, but he knew she'd warm up with the heat he gave off. His arm wrapped around her waist and he squeezed her gently.

"I don't need to know," he said in her ear, bending slightly to kiss her shoulder. "It was obviously a mistake if it only lasted six days. A drunk, high or both mistake, but a mistake nonetheless."

"Why do you think I was drunk or high? Maybe I was getting back at someone."

"You would have stayed with the guy at least 2 weeks longer."

She smiled at his logic then yawned. He let her drift off a bit before speaking again.

"So were you drunk?"

"I knew you were incapable of 'not needing to know.' Of course I was drunk," she said sleepily. "A friend and I drove to Atlantic City since we were both home for Spring Break. We partied. I met a hot beach boy from California and we got married sometime between 3 and 8 o'clock in the morning the next day. It took six days for the paperwork for our 'divorce' to go through."

House nodded against her neck and fell silent again. It was another five minutes of silence and Cuddy was just slipping into a restful sleep when House spoke up again.

"Would you ever get married again?"

The question had burst out of his lips without his permission. In those five quiet minutes, he thought about her walking down the aisle, alone, in a gaudy little chapel towards a faceless, blond, tan stranger. It annoyed him for some reason. Then his mind jumped to the near past, to a ring that was worn once, hidden in her old med school desk, and given back the same night. If he hadn't badgered her that night would she have hidden her engagement right up until the wedding? Would she really have gone through with it even though she loved him and not Lucas? Did she eventually want to get married? To him? To the next guy who comes along when he fucks this up? He heard her sigh interrupting his obsessions.

"Maybe one day, but if it never happens, it never happens." She turned over facing him, eyes closed, their noses almost touching. "I know your views on marriage. I love you so I wouldn't pressure you into such a huge… undertaking if you don't want it."

"How do I know you won't resent me in a couple years? I'll never buy you a ring," he told her bluntly. To his amazement she didn't tense or open her eyes to stare angrily at him. She giggled. Maybe she really was too tired and this was the sleep deprivation kicking in.

"Que sera, sera, House. Go to sleep."

"I don't speak German."

He grimaced slightly as she bit his lip for the sarcasm and then kissed him.

"Yes, you do, along with French. Please, shut up and go to sleep."

Smiling, House kissed her forehead and held her a little tighter as they fell asleep.

House woke up the next morning on his stomach and stretched over Cuddy's pillow. He heard his shower running and knew she was in there. Her perfume lingered on the pillow, making him burrow his face in it. This was the most relaxed time of the day until he returned here or to Cuddy's later that night. Once he got out of bed, he'd have to go to work and find a new case before he was subjugated to the clinic. Wilson will probably corner him in his office or the cafeteria wanting to talk about his break up. Foreman will annoy him about their new case or lack thereof. Taub will make passive aggressive taunts to his brilliance until proven wrong. And Chase… will walk into the Ddx room an hour late, the same satisfied smile as he was wearing in bed, and not give a damn about the power struggles or pettiness of the hospital.

Cuddy instantly interrupted his thoughts. She walked into his room only wearing a towel around her wet hair and naked as the day she was born.

"You might want to wipe the drool off your chin," she said as she started to dress.

He glanced down at the obvious tent in the sheets now and then back up at her.

"You can help out here, you know," he raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'll be late then. Go take a cold shower."

"You're mean."

She put on the last article of clothing before she went and kissed him goodbye. He got up and pulled on the briefs from last night to see her out the door.

"Are you going to go out with Wilson tonight?" she asked over her shoulder as they walked down the hall.

"Yeah, sure. I'll see if he wants to go get piss drunk and tell him the boss lady says its okay to come in late tomorrow since we'll both be suffering hangovers," he added.

House helped her into her jacket, kissing her one last time.

"I'll see you at work," she parted huskily.

AN2: Oh Lord, that was difficult to write. Next up is a bit of doctoring (or not doctoring since it's House) with mostly House and Wilson drinking. Don't worry, Cuddy will appear, too. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! [Mainly, I want to know if the smut was at least decent. Feedback on that will be much appreciated. I know I'll never be as good as, let's say… Iane Casey. (By the way, go read her lovely fics.)]


	3. Ch 3 Shots and Half Truths

**Chapter Three: Shots and Half-Truths**

House arrived at Princeton-Plainsboro ten minutes to noon. He knew Cuddy would be pissed but he was up for a little _heated_ discussion with her. Unfortunately it wasn't Cuddy who was waiting in the lobby for him. He watched as Foreman smirked, rolled his eyes and got to his feet. His neurologist already had a blue file in his hand.

"No! I don't want it! You can go give it back to Cuddy right now!"

He raised his voice and gestured wildly with his cane, instantly causing a scene. The nurses at the receptionist's desk glared daggers at the gimp doctor as they _affectionately_ called him. People walking into the clinic gave him a wide birth.

"A 60 year old female with unexplained bruising, reoccurring periods of blindness, and nodules on her wrists and hands," blurted out Foreman, still trying to shove the file into House's hands.

"She has arthritis. Tell her to lay off the booze which explains the bruises and blindness."

"She has some arthritis but it's not connected with the nodules. It's not RA."

"You didn't defend grandma against the alcohol comment," House narrowed his eyes.

Foreman shrugged. "This lady could probably drink you under the table. She retired as a lieutenant colonel of the army in 1980 and opened her own bar in 81. She owns Sherri's a couple blocks from here."

House snatched the folder from his hands.

"You can wipe that gloating smile off your face," he muttered darkly without looking at Foreman. His eyes scanned over the folder quickly. The click of heels interrupted his thoughts on the patient. Looking up, he saw Cuddy looking entirely ticked over Foreman's shoulder. Foreman looked like he wanted to quickly disappear before getting in the middle of the battle that was guaranteed to happen. For once, House took pity on him.

"Go get the rest of the team and wait for me upstairs," he said gruffly, shoving the folder back into Foreman's hand.

Foreman nodded in acknowledgement and bolted towards the stairs.

"Why the hell are you here at noon? You were scheduled to come in at nine!"

Wilson was very right when he secretly nicknamed Cuddy, Medusa. The look in her eye would have turned a lesser man into stone. Her eyes were only focused on him, her face flushed, and her chest heaving with anger. _Maybe I took it too_ _far_, he thought for a second. Perseus must have felt the same fear rush through him while standing in the gorgon's temple. Instead of giving in though, House smirked for bravado. He winced when Cuddy sank her nails into his arm and dragged him off towards the elevators.

"Good God, woman, stop man-."

"I know you have a patient. Cure her and then get down here-."

"And what?" he snapped. "Last Tuesday we had sex in exam room 1. I don't like repeats."

"And work in the clinic until you make up the hours you've wasted plus 6 more on top of that!"

She gave him a parting glare and sauntered off. Patients and nurses stared at the couple and went back to their business when the Dean passed. House was still watching her stomp away. _What a tease!_ She was in a tight gray skirt and his favorite black top that tied in the front. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked away from him. Her legs looked so long in those black heels… The doors to the elevator opened and he limped in, slacked jawed.

It took less than a minute to reach the fourth floor. Instead of walking straight down the hall, he walked to the left and promptly barged through his best friend's office. A petite black woman jumped in her seat on the couch. Wilson sat across from her looking exasperated.

"You know you never go back…"

The woman looked incredulously at the strange madman in the doorway.

"Mrs. Tomlin, I'm so sorry. If you don't have any more questions-." Wilson started.

"I don't. Thank you, Dr. Wilson. You've been more than a dear."

House wanted to wretch. He watched as she shook Wilson's hand and promptly left, not making eye contact with him at all. Once she had crossed the threshold of the office, House slammed it shut. He smirked at he watched his friend roll his eyes.

"What do you want, House?"

"The boss lady has given me the night off. Let's go to Sherri's and get drunk. I'm treating the owner so I'm pretty sure drinks are on the house." As Wilson seated himself at his desk, House took his usual spot spread out on the couch with his cane resting between his legs.

"Sure. Not like I have to ask anyone permission to go out…"

"I didn't ask for it," House said, taking Wilson's bait. If it made him feel better, he'll let Wilson pester him. He really could have cut his friend deep. "Cuddy suggested a night out so we can figure out all the reasons why you were a moron in the first place. Let's start with lesson one: ex-wife for a reason."

"Alright, alright. We'll leave from here?"

"Yeah, you're driving."

The old bird he was treating was a pain in his ass. Sheri Miller looked like a sweet, red cheeked Mrs. Clause, but she was a nasty piece of work when she was angry. House didn't mean to stab her so deeply when testing her for anemia and whether she'd clot after being cut. She immediately picked him out as a military brat and promptly baited him every time he walked into the room. Sure, he did jab at her then for being a grizzled, old crone who liked to dip into the scotch a little too much, but she didn't have to get _personal_. Currently, she was stable and the team was almost to a solid diagnosis. He'd have to ask Wilson about hairy cell leukemia before they got too drunk. He was pretty sure she had it since she was exposed to Agent Orange while she served in Vietnam and there were numerous articles citing connections between the two. The VA was going to foot the bill for this old gal. They reached a strange truce with his diagnosis and after she started to feel better on the meds he put her on. She did give a call to her bar and gave him and Wilson a free night. He'd let his team know about it when they called or in the morning/afternoon once he's recovered.

Wilson was too quiet on the four block drive to the bar. It seemed like this bar would remain a place of grief for him. House watched him out of the corner of his eye. They both walked into the busy establishment and found two seats on the far corner of the bar. A busty blond laid down cocktail napkins and asked what they were drinking. House put on his most charming smile.

"We're actually two doctors from Princeton-Plainsboro…"

"Oh! Sherri called about you. Hold on, I'll be right back!"

House winced at her high cartoonish pitched voice and exchanged a confused look with Wilson. The bartender came back and with two glasses filled with 4 cherries each soaked in a clear liquid.

"Atomic cherries. Sherri swears you'll love them. Now what can I get you to drink?"

Wilson ordered a martini but House just told her to bring them shots of Grey Goose and to keep them filled. He wasn't planning on drinking much until he carelessly popped a cherry into his mouth and choked. He forcefully swallowed it, feeling his throat burn and his eyes water.

"You okay?" asked Wilson.

"They're soaked in everclear," House rasped out.

They saw the bartender smirk and return to the other customers. His patient was going to have a ball with him tomorrow. He blinked several times to clear the tears from his eyes. Heat seared into his face, reddening his cheeks. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he could already feel his mind fog. House pushed Wilson's cherry filled glass towards him.

"You have to have at least one to catch up."

With a devil-may-care shrug, Wilson ate one. House laughed at his pinched face and harsh cough. Wilson's boyish face turned red also but it was more pronounced than House's. Their shots were served along with Wilson's drink. They left them alone for the time being.

"So… what nurse are you going for next? I hear the new one in Peds is a babe."

"Chase already got to her." Wilson answered miserably.

"No way! Ugh, it's that damn accent and hair."

"I don't think I'm going to date for a while. I was willing to marry Sam again and she just walked away. For me being honest!" He took a healthy swig of his martini and grimaced.

"I warned you she was a soulless harpy. What kind of woman has her lawyer travel out of state to serve her husband divorce papers without even mentioning anything about it first?" House took a shot as Wilson brought one to his lips. Wilson giggled.

"I don't think we're going to be in the hospital tomorrow until about 3," he set the empty shot glass on the oak counter.

"If I feel like shit because of the cherries, I'm blaming it all on my patient and taking the day off. Cuddy will understand."

Wilson smirked, taking another sip of his martini.

"I told the truth and lost Sam, and you lied and got Cuddy back. Oh, the irony."

House would have winced at that comment but the alcohol was already making his reactions sluggish and giddy. It was a very heady feeling.

"Sucks for you. I told you to let it go."

Wilson sighed and propped his head on one hand, looking at the far wall behind his friend. His cheeks had stayed rosy and his eyes were now glassy. House knew he probably looked the same. The bartender took pity on them and left ice water after refilling the shots glasses.

"Next time I get a girlfriend, she's staying a girlfriend. Maybe I'm not supposed to get married at all?"

"Marriage is a sham. I don't see how people do it once, more or less three times…. Idiot," House muttered.

"I was in love. I thought we'd work through anything. Don't you ever think of 'settling' down and just spending the rest of your life with Cuddy?"

House took a shot. They had only been at the bar for an hour but he could no longer feel his face. His lips felt heavy but didn't actually feel the glass he touched to them. His whole body tingled and he thought it was going to be hell on him walking out of the bar alone.

"No. There's only today and tomorrow and maybe the next day. Why think of something long term when you already know it's not going to last."

Wilson slammed his empty shot glass down.

"How do you _know_ that? No one knows what'll happen in a year, five or ten from now!"

"How do you _know_ you'll be together with that person? Nothing in this world lasts and relationships are the first things to prove this theory!"

"Theory! Not a law! You can't think of relationships in scientific terms anyway. They're not rational to begin with!"

"See you just proved me right. People will try to be rational. When they can't keep up the pretense anymore, they leave."

"What? So you're only with Cuddy because the both of you haven't come to your senses yet?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

Wilson gave him a disgusted look and took a shot. It was his fourth after the martini and cherry. House watched him wobble on his seat for a moment before sitting up as straight as he could.

"How do you explain Stacy? She was with you for five years. Longer than most of my marriages."

"Bad example. Stacy left eventually."

"But you pushed her away. You didn't want to work with her. You work pretty well with Cuddy, but you don't want to think about anything serious with her."

"Why are we talking about me and Cuddy when you're supposed to be bitching about your first ex-wife?"

"This is helping me, believe me."

"Right, continue."

They both gave drunken smiles and laughs as they toasted their newly filled shots. House couldn't get that light feeling out of his stomach and no matter how much he tried not to, he giggled.

"We are going to be so trashed tomorrow, House," Wilson muttered, a hand rubbing his cheek.

"Like I said, we're blaming my patient."

"Has Cuddy said anything yet about long-term or is she being like you and taking it a day at a time?"

"I already told her I was never buying her a ring so day by day, I think."

Wilson looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"That was a bastard thing to tell her."

"It was the truth."

House stared at the other side of the bar. He could see Wilson studying him intently, his eyes a little unfocused but still able to pick out his very subtle tells. Wilson's eyes widened for a second.

"You have thought about it!"

House took a sip of his water. It had the bland taste of earth identifying it as tap water. He licked his lips. Wilson drank half his glass of water in one swallow and set it on the coaster again.

"You're drunk. _We're_ so drunk." House muttered.

"Yeah, I think we're good to leave now. Taxi?"

"Taxi."

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, favoriting, and putting this story on alerts! I really appreciate it. Next up… Where House and Wilson end up and a little more alone time with House and Cuddy. **


	4. Ch 4 Sobria Inebrietas

**Chapter Four: Sobria Inebrietas**

House refused to open his eyes. No, he wouldn't do it. His stomach felt like it was in his throat. He had no saliva in his mouth taking "cotton mouth" to a whole other level. His leg was protesting the slight movement he made. Once he got up he knew he was going to be in serious pain. All of his joints hurt and his back cramped slightly. Even the red of his eyelids hurt his head. He tried to squint his eyes open and was immediately blinded. There was a shaft of light going through his window that he couldn't avoid if he wanted to _crawl_ to his bathroom. The sound of his front door opening and closing felt like a gong had gone off next to his ear. He groaned loudly and brought both his hands to his head. _Oh hell, _he thought. His eyes flew open when he heard the click of high heels walking towards his room. He clutched his pillow closer to his head and tried to stifle the sound.

"You look like shit."

He felt the bed dip, sending his stomach into its final death-throws. As quickly as he could, he sat up and limped to his bathroom. The porcelain of his toilet never looked so appealing. He could hear Cuddy's laughter over the sound of the contents of his stomach emptying into the bowl. He coughed several times as he tried to clear the acid from his throat and mouth. His eyes watered as he straightened up, holding onto the wall.

"Ugh," he moaned. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Cuddy leaning in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest and a wide smile on her face. House cringed again.

"Will you whisper? Please?" he croaked. He suddenly wanted to laugh at the state of himself. This was pitiful. He flushed the toilet.

"Aw, of course, you poor thing," she said softly, mockingly. "You should see Wilson. He's still passed out on your couch in only his undershirt and Star Wars boxers."

House laughed weakly and limped to his sink. His reflection looked like a waif. His eyes were bloodshot and made him look even more hound-dog than usual. His skin was pale and his beard was thick. His hair was flattened to the left and stuck up at all angles.

"Did you get a picture?"

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a generous amount of paste on it. No doubt he had breath that rivaled a corpse. He probably reeked of sweat and stale alcohol, too.

"Nope, I didn't have the heart to do that to Wilson. Maybe the next time you guys go out."

House rinsed his mouth, feeling a little bit better. He drank straight from the sink, the dehydration making him not wait until he got into the kitchen, if he made it there. He turned back to Cuddy and limped to her.

"What time is it?"

"Just a little after one. I'm here on my lunch break to make sure you two didn't kill yourselves."

"You wouldn't have brought an IV with you?"

"Drat, I had one in my other purse."

"You're mean," he leaned in and pecked her on the lips. She allowed him and then pushed him back gently.

"You smell horrible."

House limped back into bed and laid down on his stomach. His head still hurt but at least his stomach had quieted for now. He moved more to the center of the bed so Cuddy could sit on the corner. He faced her and felt her hand run through his hair lightly. It was oddly soothing.

"Want me to make you something to eat? I was going to make a sandwich. You need something in your stomach."

"Please."

He closed his eyes and willed the world to stop spinning. He heard Cuddy chuckle and felt her lips kiss his shoulder before she left. The sheets beneath him felt heavenly. He drifted close to sleep again before he heard the returning click of heels. Cuddy settled herself in her usual spot in the bed. He sat up next to her. Two water bottles were on the nightstand next to her. An ibuprofen tablet was handed to him and he swallowed gratefully. A roast beef sandwich on a paper plate was next to him. Cuddy was already tucking into hers. He took a tentative bite and when he felt that it was safe, ate the rest of the sandwich with gusto. Cuddy was only half way done with hers when he finished. He lay down again but rested his head in her lap. She was wearing a tight, red skirt. He looked down at her legs, crossed at the ankles with red heels he was sure he'd never seen.

"Are those new?"

Cuddy placed her plate on the night stand. He felt one hand return to his hair, the other cupped his exposed cheek, her thumb slowly rubbing circles through the bristled hair.

"I bought them yesterday. I had some time after work to go shopping."

They were silent for several minutes. The warmth from Cuddy's body was pulling him back into dreamland. Her nails were lightly scratching his scalp. He threw his arm around her waist.

"I have to go, House," she whispered.

"Stay," he grumbled and held tighter.

"I wish I could. Take the rest of the day off. Your team is taking care of your patient and has covered your clinic hours. When Wilson wakes up, tell him to rest and take it easy. None of his patients need him today either. Come over to my place tonight. I'll be home by eight."

He let her go and rolled onto his back. He could finally see her clearly as she leaned over and kissed him.

"Bye," she whispered and got out of bed.

He smiled as he stretched his arms above his head and got comfortable again. When the front door closed, he heard Wilson give a loud groan and fall silent. House decided to sleep more and then shower when he finally got up. Wilson was on his own whenever he regained consciousness.

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The smell of strong coffee woke him up for the final time. Its bold aroma wafted into his room teasingly. He needed a shower and to air out his room before he did anything else though. The hot water worked its magic on his sore muscles and made him feel like he hadn't slept in a gutter. When he was out, he brushed his teeth one more time before dressing in jeans and a Led Zeppelin shirt. He pulled on his most worn and comfortable pair of Nikes and walked to the kitchen. Wilson was back in his pants and shirt from the night before. He was leaning on House's isle, coffee in a red mug in front of him. House smirked as he noticed it was still black.

"Good Afternoon!" he said loudly.

Wilson's face scrunched in pain. His hand shook as he brought the red mug to his mouth, ignoring House. House had grabbed a clear mug and filled it with coffee and a dash of milk. No one used sugar so he never had it in stock. He took a large gulp of the liquid and promptly regretted it. It was strong, very bitter despite the added milk, and very hot. Wilson smirked at him blearily.

"I am never drinking or eating anything that's been in everclear again," he rasped. His voice was horse and sounded like he had been pounding the martinis with a side of cigarettes. Of course Wilson, the boy wonder oncologist, never smoked, but it sounded like he did.

"If my liver is going, I think I've sent it a first class ticket."

"I'm surprised you don't have cirrhosis now."

Wilson took another sip of his coffee. "Was there someone here earlier?"

"Cuddy stopped by on her lunch break. We don't have to go in today."

Wilson nodded. They stood there for a couple minutes quietly drinking from their mugs.

"I guess I'll head home. I need to shower and then sleep off the rest of this hangover. At least I didn't wander off when the taxi dropped us off here."

They laughed.

"What are you doing today? I know you're not going to stay in and sleep."

"I was thinking of taking my bike out. Cuddy won't ride with me yet so it's neglected."

"It's a deathtrap. I don't blame her."

Wilson drained his mug and put it in the sink. House followed his friend to the front door and saw him out. He still looked awful. House was just going to settle himself on his couch to catch one of his soaps, but he heard his phone ring. Hanson's "MMMBop" sounded through the apartment. The cell phone was on his nightstand and stopped ringing once he got to it. It wasn't a call. It was a text but the number was blocked. He flipped it open to read.

_Meet me at the Foxhole at 4. Please. _

He frowned. The Foxhole was a lesbian bar he'd only been to once with… His eyes widened. He checked the time. It was 3:25. He quickly grabbed his leather jacket and helmet and left the apartment. The engine roared as he gunned the bike down the street. The bar was a half an hour from his place. He needed to know what was happening with her. When she disappeared, he only started looking for her a week after the crane collapse. His team had informed him that her apartment was empty and all her phone lines were disconnected. He contacted her building manager to see if she left a forwarding address but she hadn't left one. He found out she had sold her car a day before the Trenton accident. The New Jersey DMV had no record of her on file anymore so she hadn't bought a new car, at least not in their state. Being obsessive-compulsive, he checked several of their neighboring states' records and found none. She may have been granted confidential plates but he doubted it. She wouldn't have had the precedent for them anyway. Hell, House had checked her credit and found out she had paid off and closed all her accounts. Thirteen had effectively disappeared leaving no trail, paper and digital. Her own father had no clue where she was. House had checked with every person that had contact with her. He tried to spin a tale of foul play to the Princeton-Plainsboro police department but an hour after he filed the missing person's report, an officer called and informed him that said missing person was fine and wished to be left alone. He tried wheedling the young jerk out of more information but the kid stayed silent, finally snapping at him and telling him that she just called to let them know she wasn't missing and that's it. House had hung up frustrated. Thirteen's trail was colder than dry ice. He would just have to wait [_which he hated with a passion_] for some new clue or Thirteen herself to appear. That had been two months ago.

He took the last left hand turn almost too sharply; he was so lost in his thoughts. The bar looked closed when he drove in front of it. The garish neon pink sign in front begged to differ. House looked quickly around the parking lot. There were only a couple cars with New Jersey plates on them. He took off his helmet and checked his watched. _3:57_. Unhooking his cane he walked to the front of the bar. The same short-haired, fake blond from the night he went with Thirteen was there serving a couple at the bar. He couldn't see the far left corner of the room and knew she would have picked that spot for that sole purpose. The booths that lined the front of the bar and sides were empty. He limped as quickly as he could to the far side of the bar.

She was there.

Thirteen's cat-like eyes met his instantly. She hadn't changed. She was still gorgeous, but something was off. She held herself too stiffly. Her mouth gave him a ghost of a smile before she spoke.

"House."

He immediately noticed the way the left corner of her mouth pulled slightly back when she spoke. To the unobservant eye, it would have looked like just a facial tick. Maybe a sudden muscle spasm. Her eyes had shot down to the table and her face paled. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and moved to sit in the booth next to her. She wasn't exhibiting any other symptoms that he could see. Her nervousness would have made her other muscle coordination loss more pronounced.

"Long time no see," he said gruffly.

He would have to go easy on her and not immediately hound her with questions. She already looked like she regretted texting him and would bolt at the slightest provocation. She laughed quietly.

"Yeah. I'm sorry I left so suddenly but…" she trailed off.

A waitress interrupted the silence. House ordered an Irish coffee while Thirteen asked for a gin and tonic and water.

"Wilson and I got plastered last night," he replied to Thirteen's look at his unusual order. "My liver will forcibly expel itself a la 'Total Recall' if I get scotch."

This time Thirteen smiled. It was noticeably crooked. The muscles on the left side of her face were rigid. His eyes swept over all the muscle groups of her face.

"I see you've noticed," she said a little harshly. "Of course, I knew you would but at least start the questions once our drinks arrive."

"How old are you again?"

"Thirty-four," she answered without missing a beat.

He nodded. The waitress returned with their orders and left. He saw the slight pause she made when the waitress set down the highball glass in front of her.

"Slowed saccadic eye movement, too…" he muttered to himself.

Thirteen glanced up at him, clearly unaware of her new symptom. She took a sip of her drink, set it down and sighed.

"I enrolled in a stem cell therapy trail in Toronto," she blurted out. "They had promising results for a previous one done two years ago. I put you as one of my medical proxies so it'll be easy to get my records from Dr. Phillips."

She knew him too well. He had been thinking the exact thing.

"How long were you in the trail?"

"I started the week after I left and left three weeks ago."

"Why?"

"It's clearly not working. I'm getting worse."

Her face was stoic when she uttered those words.

"Any cognitive problems?"

She laughed hollowly. "Not yet. I still have a good memory and haven't had any bouts of sudden mood changes."

"You have a 30% chance of not getting any until the last stages. You can still work for me."

"The medical board won't rehire a doctor in the first stages of Huntington's Correa. They won't trust my judgment. Cuddy certainly won't rehire me."

"Leave Cuddy to me. She will give you a chance and she'll explain the situation to the board at the hospital as well. You'll be able to practice until your cognitive symptoms appear."

"I'm a ticking time bomb, House. Why do you want to help me anyway? I've always wondered how a bastard like you can help anyone out. Am I just your latest puzzle?"

House took a drink of his coffee to give himself a moment to think.

"You're a good doctor," he said gruffly. "You shouldn't be penalized for a disability beyond your control. And… you're an asset to my team," he admitted.

Thirteen nodded, her eyes a little brighter.

"Plus, not having a pretty face to look at to get the sight of Boring, Slutty, and Scummy off my mind is annoying me."

She giggled at the description of her former coworkers.

"You wouldn't have texted me if you didn't want the help," House added.

"It was impulsive on my part. Sad how I don't have anyone else who would just show up and listen to me."

"Quite."

"So how long have you been dating Cuddy?" She changed the subject.

"Am I glowing that much?" he said sarcastically.

"The way you said her name made me suspicious. Call it women's intuition."

She pulled out her wallet and left a twenty on the table. House knew it would cover both drinks with a nice tip included.

"House," she hesitated. "Give me a little time to think. Please, don't tell anyone I've come back. They don't need to know yet. I promise I will contact you again in a week."

She was pleading with him. At that moment, she looked so insecure and more frightened than when he walked in and saw her. Against his nature and better judgment he found himself agreeing with her.

"Fine."

She smiled warmly at him.

"Thanks, House. I won't let you stew in impatience for long. I'll call you."

He watched her slide out of the booth and walk away without a backward glance. The need to follow her and find out where she was staying was great, but he kept himself in check. She would just move to a new place and being pushy would not get her to accept his offer. Thirteen would need to make up her mind.

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At seven-thirty, he was at Cuddy's, making her dinner for when she got home from work. He chose to make spaghetti because anything that required more concentration was off the table. His mind kept going over the conversation and Thirteen's mannerisms, looking for any detail he may have missed. If Thirteen was beginning to exhibit symptoms she wouldn't live to see her fifties. At forty, she would probably not have any controllable motor function. She may get lucky and still have most of her reasoning but essentially she'd be trapped in her body. What a horrible way to live, if one could call it that.

He jumped when he felt two arms wrap around his waist. He had been absent-mindedly stirring the sauce when Cuddy walked in. Cuddy pressed a kiss between his shoulders and squeezed him.

"Hi."

Her voice was muffled because she was leaning on him. He turned in her embrace and hugged her, both arms wrapping around her easily. He mumbled his greeting into her hair.

"Are you still feeling bad?" she asked.

"A bit. I won't be drinking like that until Wilson's next divorce."

Cuddy laughed, her breath tickling his neck. She pulled out of his arms a bit. Her grey eyes searched his face.

"Everything okay?"

He tensed.

"Yeah, everything's fine."

Her eyebrows drew together for a moment, but she seemed to accept his answer. She got on her tip toes and kissed him.

"I'm going to go get comfortable," she smiled at him.

"I'll have dinner set then."

He watched as she sauntered out of the kitchen. Looking down at his shoes, he thought about Thirteen. He should tell Cuddy that she was back in Princeton. Then again, not telling her something wasn't _really_ lying. Well, lies of omission were lies but he'd deal with the technicalities of it later. It was only a week. There was no way Cuddy would find out he had seen Thirteen even if someone found out she was back. Thirteen wouldn't say anything.

He didn't know how screwed he would be.

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**Author's Note: Translation of chapter title, "Sobria inebrietas - **_**Sober intoxication**_**" Now we're getting into the heart of the story. My medical knowledge is limited to Wikipedia so everything mentioned has been modified to fit the story. I'll flash you my creative license if you don't believe me. Also, this was a fast update so the next one might not be up till next week. Thanks for reading and let me know what you think! **


	5. Ch 5 In Doubt

**AN: This is M for a reason. Youngin's and people easily offended, you have been warned. **

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**Chapter Five: In Doubt**

"Oh, right there!"

Cuddy was lying under him on her stomach as he moved above her. His whole front pressed against her smooth back. He had his right arm wrapped around her waist, forearm holding him up at the same time. His left hand was entwined with hers and pulled above her head. Her right arm supported her as she arched her back. It was really unnecessary since House had her almost pinned to the mattress. The bedsprings squeaked with every thrust House made.

Dinner had been a very quiet affair. Cuddy thought he was still feeling the effects of his and Wilson's night out so he hadn't corrected her. A twinge of guilt poked sharply at him, but he ignored it. They had eaten and Cuddy talked about how quiet the hospital had been without the insane diagnostician berating the staff and terrorizing patients. House 'helped' her with the dishes. He distracted her with kisses to her neck, hands groping her breasts and his pelvis pressing hers into the sink. Marina had put Rachel to bed already so they didn't fear an interruption.

That led them to their present location and position. Sweat covered both of their bodies as they moved. Cuddy's hair draped along her back and hung down both sides of her face. It was starting to curl with the humidity in the room. Her forehead was just an inch above the mattress. House started to thrust into her more firmly, earning a satisfied moan from Cuddy. He loved taking her like this. He had dreamt about it for years, taking her from behind while she leaned over her desk, his desk, Wilson's desk, and any other furniture in the hospital. He wasn't picky. Once or twice he imagined taking her on the balcony outside his office. Wilson would surely get a view if that ever happened.

He felt Cuddy dip slightly, only her forearm holding her chest up. He stopped himself from thinking about her swaying breasts and how they would be pressed against the mattress. Just the sight of her beautiful ass pressing against his stomach was making his self-control difficult. He glanced down the length of their bodies and watched as his cock glistened from her wetness and then disappear back inside her tightness. He groaned and moved his eyes back to Cuddy's head and shoulders. He kissed her left shoulder blade and lightly grazed his teeth where her shoulder and neck met. She arched her neck to the side so he could place more kisses and nips along the column of her throat. He could feel his release creep down his spine and travel to his cock. He groaned, stopping his movement and pressing most of his weight on Cuddy. He let go of her left hand as she straightened down on the bed.

"Are—are you okay?" she panted.

"I need a minute or this party will be over way too soon," he replied out of breath.

He moved both his arms under her, resting his weight on his left forearm while the other traveled down to where they were joined. Cuddy gasped as she felt his fingers find her clit and start to rub slowly but with increasing speed and pressure. She moaned his name loudly and tried to press up against him. When he felt her muscles tighten around his cock, he started thrusting again, harder, knowing he was in the home stretch. He was completely arched above her, his forehead pressed against the middle of her shoulder blades. He could feel her trembling with the effort to hold off her impending orgasm. She failed, gasping and whimpering as her muscles tensed as she came.

"Cuddy!"

He thrust several more times, the feeling of her hot, tight grip on him leading him to his undoing and release, pressing himself as tight to her body as possible. When his muscles relaxed, he pulled out of her. He fell to the right side of her, out of breath and feeling boneless. Cuddy turned her body towards him and invaded his space. She kissed him on the corner of the mouth as she snuggled into him. House felt her hand rest against his chest above his still rapidly, beating heart. He pulled her closer to him, wrapping his arm around her waist and stroking his hand up and down her back. He pressed his nose into her hair, smelling a hint of vanilla and her own scent.

"Do you feel better now?"

He let you a shaky breath and kissed her brow.

"That was the prescription I needed, doctor," he told her.

Cuddy giggled as pulled away from him and kissed him, pulling faintly on his lower lip.

"God, that was cheesy," she said against his lips.

"You like cheesy," he growled and pulled her into his arms as he rolled onto his back. Cuddy made herself comfortable on him. Sluggishly he moved the tips of his fingers up and down her back, from the nape of her neck to the small dimples above her derriere.

"How was Wilson when he woke up?" she asked softly.

"He was hungover. He left after making coffee. He'll probably buy you lunch tomorrow since you let him off."

"What'd you do the rest of the day?"

It took him a moment to answer. She was distracting him with her finger tracing the outline of his nipple and curling his chest hair. He was glad she couldn't see his face.

"I took my bike out and road for a couple hours. I made it to White Plains and decided that was far enough. I broke a new record coming back through traffic."

_That was easy_, he thought. It left a bad taste in his mouth though. The embellishment was ridiculous. A new record? His ego really did know no bounds.

"Maybe I'll go with you one of these days. I trust you not to make my daughter an orphan."

"You would look good in those red heels and a black skirt getting off my bike in front of the hospital."

"And imagine all the gossip we'd inspire."

"I'm already losing a bet to Chase. I have five to one odds on you riding my bike. I have to get visual or photographic evidence of you on it so Chase gives me my money."

"Let's try it this weekend. We can take a drive down to Ocean City. They have a lot going on at the pier for the Christmas season."

"Sounds good."

He felt her lips on his collarbone. It was getting late and though he slept all day, he was sleepy. He felt the rise of Cuddy's chest even out as the minutes rolled by and her breathing turn steady. She had fallen asleep. She was still sprawled on him, her warmth comforting.

He hoped Thirteen would contact him soon. She was going to come back. She liked the work, the challenge, too much. Even with her defeatist attitude, she was going to fight until her last breath not to end up like her mother. He only hated this feeling that he was hiding a _big secret _from Cuddy. It wasn't anything _serious. _Thirteen was okay, relatively. Yes, no one knew where Thirteen had been for more than six months. His team already thought he had an inkling of where she was. He encouraged it because they would then keep their eyes and ears open for anything he missed. Foreman was still worried about her. Taub was too busy thinking about his ruined marriage to concern himself with anyone else, not that he thought of other people often. Chase might care. He was a little harder to read now a days. He pretended to not care about patients. His many _liaisons_ between women at the hospital, at bars, at the Chairman's wedding, were now legend. He would have to do something about Chase's behavior before it got out of control.

House turned his head toward the night stand. The digital clock read ten past eleven. He closed his eyes and let himself drift off.

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He really didn't like Cuddy at the moment. He was sitting in the middle of her kitchen with a half full cup of coffee at seven-thirty in the morning. Seven-thirty. Why the hell did he need to be up to drive twenty minutes to work when he started at nine? He was dressed in his usual jeans, band shirt, button up shirt, and black blazer. Cuddy had made him change right away, spurning all his advances to get her back into bed. He'd concede that he should not have called her a beast in the morning if she didn't have her nookie but he was _only_ looking out for her welfare and the state of the day ahead. She hadn't appreciated the concern. House was going to murder the first person to try to give him a new case or engage him in conversation before his "in-office" coffee.

Rachel ran into the room at that moment and gave him a grin. She was a good kid, quiet and not bratty. She never bugged him for attention or threw tantrums. She was very active but what kid wasn't at her age? Marina took care of her for most of the day and then Cuddy would take care of her at night, playing with her to exhaustion. On most nights, she'd fall asleep against Cuddy on the couch or in bed. There was only one thing that he disliked about her: she was just as much a morning person as Cuddy. Figuring he could score brownie points with Cuddy, he got Rachel settled in her high seat and served her a bowl of cheerios. She munched happily on the bland food.

"One of these days, kid, I'm introducing you to lucky charms. Then let's see if your mom likes mornings."

She giggled at him. He gave her a smirk and continued to finish his coffee. Cuddy rushed in, looking harassed and stressed.

"I have a meeting at 8:30 and the guy is already there. I mean, who shows up an hour early? Seriously…"

House poured her a cup of coffee in a thermos and handed it to her as she gathered paperwork, putting it in her briefcase. Marina came through the front door, saving House from having to watch Rachel for a couple minutes. He helped Cuddy into her jacket, kissed her cheek and walked out with her.

"Now, please, go to the hospital and don't cause a ruckus for three hours. I'm extremely busy today. Foreman has your new case waiting for you."

"Oh goodie." The sarcasm was not hard to miss.

"House," she entreated.

"Fine, I won't kill the patient until after lunch. Better?"

"Better."

**[H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H]**

House had three problems. _Item one_: he was conflicted with his knowledge of Thirteen and whether he should have told Cuddy regardless of what he promised the dying doctor. If Cuddy had met up with her secretly, he would be angry if he found out. Then again, Thirteen wasn't one of Cuddy's direct subordinates. Thirteen was just another doctor who worked for her and was supervised by him. Cuddy didn't have a close relationship with her, but she did like her. He'd dwell on that thought process in a couple hours. _Item two_: he had no idea what his patient had and said patient was rapidly deteriorating. The patient was a young male of 20 years of age with a liver going to hell and a heart ready to fail at any moment. Taub had informed him that the kid's kidneys had shut down and Chase was hooking him up to a dialysis machine. The kid only had a day; two would be pushing it. The progress of the disease and new symptoms appearing on an hourly basis were making it hard to diagnose. House suspected a history of drug and alcohol abuse mixed with an autoimmune disorder but the kid wasn't telling and his tests were inconclusive. The only thing House knew was that the kid was going to die if they couldn't solve the case within a couple hours. _Item three_ [_which may tie with maybe-dead kid in importance_, he thought]: what to get Cuddy for Christmas. Chanukah had already passed with Cuddy only lighting candles when she remembered. He knew she celebrated the twenty-fifth in the traditional gift-giving way and non-religious spirit of it. House had teased her when she put up her Christmas tree and decorated the living room and entry way with garland for being a hypocrite. She only let him get through half his rant before she smacked and told him to leave since she _certainly_ wasn't decorating for him. Cuddy did get him a present though. It was behind the tree in a box wrapped with red and gold paper. He couldn't tell what it was because it weighed nothing and made no noise even when he shook it violently. He would have to wait to find out. But that alone was the reason he had to get her something incredible, something heartfelt, something personal and with lots of sappy meaning. He needed something that screamed he loved her, but that only she would know the significance. _Well_, he thought, _when in doubt, go find Wilson_. Maybe he would finally realize what the kid was dying from while talking about Cuddy's gift.

**[H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H]**

**AN: My apologizes for the filler chapter but it must be done. Many thanks to the wonderful Iane_Casey for being my whiteboard, especially when it came to the last part of this chapter and the next several chapters ahead. I already have a thought on what kind of gift House gets Cuddy, but in the spirit of the season, give me more ideas! I will, of course, credit you in that chapter. Thanks for reading and hope to see a couple ideas! **


	6. Ch 6 Atychiphobia

**Chapter Six: Atychiphobia **

The patient had died yesterday. The kid had lied through his teeth till they fell out at the end. It took Chase a whole day to track down a family member, his mother, and the kid's best 'friend.' House sized up the mother in less than a minute when she couldn't take her eyes off the pretty Aussie and then asked Foreman out for a drink after Chase rejected her. Her son was bleeding out internally, losing his finger nails, teeth and hair at the same time and she was picking up men. He had her thrown out of the hospital after he caught her going through her son's belongings. There hadn't been much, but the watch the kid had, looked expensive. The friend, if the guy could be called that, was a little better. He had the decency to look ashamed when House yelled at him for more information. The friend never said a word no matter how much House threatened him though. He stayed at the side of his friend's side until he died. After Taub called the time of death, the guy wasn't seen again. No one had seen him leave.

House had done the autopsy last night. The kid had died from radiation poisoning. Where he had been exposed to that much radiation, House didn't know. He had to talk to Princeton PD and then the Feds had interviewed him. That had gone down well. Two suits had walked in as if they owned the place and his delightful personality certainly clicked with them. He wouldn't be surprised if Cuddy received a subpoena for his records. Foreman documented that they had no personal information about the patient except his name, age, and physical attributes and symptoms. House would keep up the news for a while to see if anything came up mentioning his patient's name. The kid sounded like he was tied into some pretty nasty stuff.

Now he had to focus on items one and three on his mental list: Thirteen and Cuddy. He hadn't heard from Thirteen. She had four more days to contact him. He hated this wait. At least Foreman was down in the ER trying to find him a semi-difficult case. They needed a case to work on for a couple of days but one that they would solve around four o'clock on Christmas Eve. He was going to be _nice_ and let them have Christmas Day off, unless Foreman fucked up royally with the patient-picking.

House had no help from Wilson with the gift idea when he approached him. "I don't know Cuddy as well as you do!" The oncologist had exclaimed, "Now get out and let me do my work!" Before he was thrown out, Wilson had reminded him to get Rachel something. He got her a large black cat doll that he hoped would replace Wilson's duck as her favorite toy. House then sat in his yellow office chair and obsessed over Cuddy's gift until he fell asleep. This morning he had gone to the mall before coming in and had bought her a simple platinum necklace with a garnet teardrop encased in small diamonds that hung from it. The garnet was her birthstone and matched her fiery personality. The necklace itself was classy and would hang just above Cuddy's well amble bust. It would be perfect. He had bought the matching earrings since Cuddy's birthday was the following month. He killed two birds with one stone. He also bought her a white helmet with black stripes and black leather jacket inlaid with hard plastic and metal protection and planned a trip to Ocean City on the 27th and 28th so he was confident Cuddy would be happy. His wallet wasn't, but it would recover.

His eyes caught his team filing into the meeting room with blue folders in hand. He grabbed his cane from where he laid it and limped in after them.

* * *

"You, two, used almost every piece of hospital equipment available to diagnose _shingles_?"

"We thought the rash was something more serious because of how blistered the poor patient was!" shouted Taub. Chase stood next to the shorter man with a bored expression. House and Foreman were sitting across from each other in House's office, watching Cuddy yell at the other men in the ddx room.

"You obviously didn't examine the rash pattern or you would have diagnosed the patient right then and there! The rash is in a dermatomal pattern! How could you miss that _glaringly_ apparent symptom?"

"They should interrupt her right now before she gets into her stride," House whispered to Foreman. They shared an amused smirk.

"And you, Chase, told the parents that the girl, the eleven year old girl, had an STD… Now, what possessed you to tell them that?"

"Well, the rash-," started Chase.

"I don't want to hear about the damn rash again! I had to speak with the distressed parents for over two hours bullshitting your diagnosis so they wouldn't think our hospital was run by lunatics!"

Taub and Chasse looked thoroughly chastised and didn't speak a word. Cuddy ranted for two more minutes before waving her hand in dismissal to them. Both left the room as quickly as possible. House had to choke back a laugh at the imperial way Cuddy stomped into his office. Foreman jumped out of his seat, gave a half-hearted two-fingered salute and left the office, too. Cuddy's eyebrow rose as she eyed the fleeing neurologist. She stopped right in front of his desk, her hands in fists by her side.

"Did you know about those two—No did you persuade those two to waste two days of work in order to not work over Christmas?" She looked so exasperated.

House felt his glasses dip slightly on the ridge of his nose as he looked at her. It was already half past seven on Christmas Eve so there was no reason to pretend there was any more work for him and his team.

"I might have implied—to them—to find a semi-easy patient to diagnosis so they could get home before Santa. However, I did not condone the unofficial use of hospital resources." He said a bit high pitched and smiled cheekily at her.

Cuddy slumped into her chair, both elbows resting on the glass desktop. House noticed she looked tired. He knew she had been run ragged with the hospital Christmas party, buying gifts for those she loved, her mother nagging her, and him bugging her. He hadn't stayed the night at her house the night before for fear of Cuddy becoming the next Lorena Bobbit. He was happy with his manhood in its rightful place, thank you very much. Cuddy groaned.

"Your patient's cured though, right?" she asked.

"Yep. Just got to wrap her in a bow and she's good to go home with her folks. I don't have to work tomorrow either according to my boss."

Cuddy folded her arms and leaned forward, resting her chin on them. He saw her eyes wander his face slowly, the grey looking more silver in the dim office light. House sat up a little straighter, feeling uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

"Do I have something on my face?" he questioned.

"No. Just admiring," she said with a sly grin. "You usually take off your glasses when I walk in here. I've always liked those glasses."

House blushed slightly and saw Cuddy's grin widen as she noticed. He could feel the heat creep up into his cheeks.

"I don't have anything else to do here. Do you?"

Cuddy's face fell a little.

"I have reports that I need to type up before I can leave for the night. You can stay on my couch and keep me company…"

"Sure," he replied with a smirk.

As he was grabbing his backpack and coat, he saw Chase appear in the hallway from the direction of the stairs. Whatever it was, the elevator had been too slow for him. Cuddy saw him, too, and watched as he sprinted into the office. Chase was out of breath slightly, pale, and starting to sweat.

"What?" asked House bluntly.

"Thirteen!" the Aussie exclaimed. "She's just been admitted into the ER."

House had dropped all his belongings and limped after Chase and Cuddy. Thirteen was being prepped for surgery as they met with the attending ER doctor. She had been in a car accident. A semi had lost control on highway 91 due to the snow and ice and plowed right into her Honda Civic, forcing it into the center divider. According to the first patrol unit there, the little car stood no chance against the truck. It was crushed and folded practically in half over the divider. Thirteen had been in the car for an additional twenty minutes while firefighters cut her out of the twisted metal. She had been unconscious the entire time. Upon arrival the attending noticed her legs had been crushed and her left arm broken. Internal bleeding was rampant in the young doctor so she was immediately rushed into the OR. It was miraculous she was still alive. House elbowed Chase after the attending left.

"Scrub up and get in there. Let me know if anything happens."

Chase nodded and rushed into the changing room. Cuddy stood next to House and looked beyond worried. House stood stoically by her side. Cuddy touched his arm lightly.

"We can watch from the observation deck above," she suggested quietly.

House took her hand without saying a word and led the way.

* * *

Thirteen was almost unrecognizable. House saw that her entire face was already bruising. Blood was caked in her hair. The surgeon was digging through her organs and suturing or cauterizing any bleeds he came across. House felt Cuddy entwine her fingers with his. They don't know who tightened their grip as they watched the surgeon remove her spleen and gallbladder. Both looked like crushed hamburger. Thirteen's heart stopped once for forty seconds and was then shocked back into life. House was surprised she didn't flat-line more. Chase was standing in front of the surgeon, watching his every move like a hawk.

Cuddy had only left once to call her mother to watch Rachel. They weren't going to be home any time soon. When she walked back into the room, an orderly brought in two chairs. House gave the guy a horse "Thanks" and sat down gingerly. He couldn't remember how long he had been standing; an hour, two or three? His leg throbbed and a spike of pain lanced up his thigh, but he only grimaced. Cuddy sat down next to him and reached for his hand, entwining their fingers again. They watched as the surgeon was replaced by another who specialized in bone reconstruction. Chase gave House a thumb up and resumed his vigil over Thirteen. House and Cuddy watched for another hour in silence until he coughed, clearing his throat.

"I saw her a few days ago," he started. "She sent me an anonymous text to meet her and talk about coming back to Princeton-Plainsboro."

He chanced a look at Cuddy. She was still staring down at the woman on the silver table.

"She's already exhibiting the beginning stages of her Huntington's. She has muscle facial weakness, slowed saccadic eye movement and just a noticeable loss of motor coordination. Luckily she has no cognitive issues unless you count her intense flight response."

"Where was she?" Cuddy inquired quietly.

"Toronto. She enrolled herself in a stem cell therapy trail. It didn't do anything to help her."

Cuddy nodded. Her silence was putting House on edge. Was she silently seething with anger or still in shock over one of her doctors becoming a patient?

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he opened. "She didn't want anyone to know she was back. She told me she was going to let me know if she was coming back in a couple days…"

Cuddy squeezed his hand. He took it as a reassuring gesture.

"It's okay. She must have been very vulnerable even while opening up to you. I can understand her not wanting her colleagues to know she was back."

She brought House's hand up and kissed his knuckles.

"Thank you for telling me," she said, her lips brushing his skin.

"You aren't mad?"

She laughed and kissed his hand again.

"No. I need your team to trust you. If they can't talk to you, then I won't ever find out what's happening to them in the long run."

"Thanks," he whispered.

He and Cuddy finally looked each other in the eye before returning their gaze to the surgical theater. The sound of the drill drilling mental pins into Thirteen's legs permeated through the glass. Her bones had been completely shattered. Cuddy eventually drifted off to a restless sleep, her head resting on House's shoulder. House kept his vigil nevertheless. Chase had disappeared for a moment but texted House that he had called Foreman. Chase had already been up for thirty hours and didn't know how long he was going to last. The surgeons had already been working on Thirteen for over seven hours. Foreman walked in with green scrubs a half hour later. Chase warily walked out and probably headed to the nearest on-call room with a bed. Only when Cuddy shifted in her sleep to the other chair arm, did House get up and pace the deck. His leg was stiff but the pain wasn't so unbearable. Yet. He didn't have any of his pain meds on his person. Cuddy woke up an hour later and persuaded him to take a quick nap. He leaned on her shoulder and felt her arm wrap around him. He couldn't sleep. House rested there and listened to the surgeon speak to the nurses.

It was six am when the surgeon announced he did all he could after ten hours of surgery. Thirteen was in three casts for each of her broken limbs. Several tubes protruded from her body. They were going to move her into the ICU and her own room in twenty minutes. House woke up Cuddy and together they made their way into the lobby outside the surgical theater. The last surgeon walked out with Foreman and immediately addressed both House and Cuddy.

"She's doing well despite everything she went through. Dr. Hadley's a pretty tough lady so I'm only worried about her mental status. She's in a coma so we won't be able to tell until she wakes up."

House already knew that. He quietly thanked the doctor, who gave him a surprised look, and limped away with Cuddy and Foreman. Foreman was silent the entire time. He told House and Cuddy that he would see them later and headed towards the locker room. Cuddy tugged gently on House's arm.

"We should go home and get some rest. There's nothing more we can do until she wakes up."

House nodded and walked with her out into the now sun-lit parking lot.

* * *

**AN: Atychiphobia is the fear of Failure. A very belated Merry Christmas to all readers and a Happy New Year! I had wanted to get this posted before Xmas but was waylaid by family. Let me know what you guys think about this chapter. It took me longer than usual to post. Thanks so much for reading! Reviews are most helpful and speed up the posting process! **_**I hate asking for them but they've been a great help, feedback wise. **_**:) **


	7. Ch 7 Pain, pain, go away

**Chapter Seven: **_**Pain, pain, go away… **_

He was warm. A body was pressed up against his back and he felt an arm wrapped around his waist. House could smell Cuddy's perfume on his pillow and the scent of her laundry soap. He opened his eyes and read well-past noon on her digital clock. He was surprised he couldn't hear Rachel's laughter and rambunctious playing with her nanny. When Cuddy and House went to bed that morning, he was sure she was going to wake them to open presents. It was Christmas morning after all and she was a three year old who knew who believed in Santa.

The house was silent though. He heard Cuddy give a soft groan in her sleep and tighten her grip. He felt her forehead pressing against the middle of his shoulder blades. He moved slightly to look at her and lie on his back. She loosened her grip, whimpered, and snuggled into his side, all without waking. She was only wearing her camisole and pajama shorts so he could feel the warmth she radiated. They had fallen asleep just before seven, arriving home and just stripping and pulling on nightwear. House was wearing his flannel bottoms and no shirt. He had been too tired to search for a clean one.

At that moment his tired mind reminded him why he had stayed up all night with Cuddy and half his team. He reached over to the nightstand and found his cell phone. It didn't have any voice messages, but a text from Taub let him know that Thirteen was stable but still unconscious. It was the best they could do presently. When she would wake up, she was going to be in a lot of pain. Cuddy shifted in her sleep once more, the tell tale signs of her waking up starting. Her eye lids opened slowly. Her grey gaze fell on him and she smiled tiredly.

"What time is it?" she croaked.

"That's such a sexy voice to wake up next to," he remarked and then winced as she smacked his chest. "It's only 12:45. Thirteen is stable. Taub's with her now."

"That's good. How long do you think it'll take her to wake up? She's in bad shape."

"It could be a couple days to weeks. There's no way to tell how much time she needs considering the amount of trauma she went through."

Cuddy threw a leg over him and wrapped her arm around his middle, her elbow bent so her hand rested on his chest. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and just held her. It was rare when they were able to just 'be' in the middle of the day, and even at night since they would get calls in the middle of the night from the hospital. He couldn't remember a day besides their first together where they just held each other.

"What if she doesn't wake? Do you know who her medical proxy is?" Cuddy mumbled. House could feel her lips move against his skin.

"I'm her proxy. She told me at the bar."

Cuddy shifted away from him a moment to look up at him.

"Why did she do that? Her father was her original proxy."

"It's easier for me to get a hold of her records. She knew I'd either hack into them, bribe an intern, or steal them myself. She knows how obsessive I am."

Cuddy smiled at that last comment and laid her head on his shoulder again.

"She knows you won't let her die. You'll be too focused on getting her the right treatment and keeping her alive."

"No pressure then," he scoffed.

"You're her perfect doctor, House," Cuddy huffed at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had been researching Huntington's Correa since the day after you found out she had it."

He didn't say anything. He had pulled up everything he had on Huntington's and acquainted himself with the latest studies. Whatever patient he had that moment was his first priority, but when he had a free moment, with nothing personal, no snooping into his fellows' lives or bored with nagging Wilson, he would read and catch up on the advancements. They were few and far between but any long shot was worth a try.

"Where's your brat?" he asked, changing the subject.

Cuddy pinched him and practically growled at him.

"_Rachel_ is with my mother. I have to call her so she could drop Rachel off."

"Hmm," House exaggerated as he turned his body toward her. "Don't call her yet…"

He nuzzled into her neck, hearing her giggle at his sudden affection. He moved on top of her feeling her arms wrap around his neck and shoulders. He left sloppy kisses on her neck and moved to nibble on her ear. She gave him a throaty moan and kissed the side of his cheek she could reach.

Hanson killed the peace and mood more effectively than ice water.

House rolled off her reluctantly and grabbed his phone.

"What?" he answered fiercely.

He felt Cuddy rub his back and move closer to him, listening. Foreman's voice sounded through the receiver.

"You and Cuddy need to come down here."

"Why? What happened?" House barked at him, interrupting Foreman.

"She woke up an hour ago but she keeps drifting in and out of consciousness. Her BP plummeted once and she went into tachycardia, but Chase and I were able to get her stable again. She's been unconscious for fifteen minutes and doesn't seem likely to wake up again today."

"So why the hell should I go down there?" he asked impatiently into the phone.

Cuddy frowned at him. She had already gotten out of bed and was pulling on clean clothes.

"I think we missed something. I don't know what, but-."

"I'll be down there in an hour."

House hung up the phone without letting Foreman finish. He rubbed his face wearily. So much for Christmas.

* * *

House and Cuddy arrived at the hospital a little over an hour later. It was busy as usual but the atmosphere was bleaker. It was as if the building knew there was a bright, young doctor dying within its walls and the injustice of such a thing. He separated from Cuddy, giving her a vague excuse that he needed to do something before he met her and the Team in the differential room. She didn't question him, probably having already guessed where he was heading. He limped his way to the intensive care unit.

Thirteen was in the room reserved for _his_ _patients_. She wasn't his patient. Not yet. He limped quietly through the sliding glass doors and met her light green eyes. They stared at one another before she moved her gaze back to the ceiling, her eyes becoming unfocused. The only sounds in the room were the heart monitor and the ventilator. She had not been able to breathe on her own.

When he reached her side, his eyes narrowed and studied her. He didn't bother to read her file. The left side of her face was more molted with angry, black, blue and purplish bruises. She had hit the driver's side window on impact. The right side of her face had more cuts due to the glass flying from the passenger side and back windows. If she were lucky [he wanted to laugh sardonically], she would only have small white scars marring her beautiful face. The sclera of her left eye was bloodshot. He saw the bruising continued down her neck. She was wearing a light green patient's gown. The bed sheet was around her waist so her broken left arm was resting at her side. Her right was in okay shape with cuts and a dozen stitches on some of the nastier ones. There was some bruising but it was already the light blue and purple of healing ones. He couldn't see them but both her legs were in casts. The surgeon had fixed them as best as he could the night before, but she would have to have them set again and again so they healed properly. That would be agony. He would be surprised if she walked normally.

House noticed her eyes were closed.

"Unlucky Thirteen," he muttered under his breath.

He walked out of the room only sparing one more glance at his broken fellow. The nurses gave him sympathetic glances as he walked to the elevator. It annoyed him slightly. The elevator came and went and he walked out onto his floor. He could hear shouting coming from the direction of his offices.

"There's nothing here to suggestion she has any infection or any side negative effects from the stem cell treatments! She's not running a fever or-." His girlfriend was interrupted by his neurologist.

"We can't tell if the stem cell treatments are affecting her. She doesn't have any of the symptoms of GVHD, but if she did have rashes we wouldn't be able to tell with all the bruising."

"Thirteen would have already started to experience GVHD right away! We can knock that off as a symptom!"

"She caught something before the crash then. Her white blood cells are elevated," Foreman argued.

"Slightly," Chase spoke up. "Not enough to suggest an infection."

"See," Cuddy said. "Dr. Hadley is only experiencing the effects of the car crash. Nothing else."

"You're all wrong," House made his entrance. He walked over to the counter and fixed himself a cup of coffee. After a moment, Cuddy spoke.

"Are you going to enlighten on how we are wrong?"

House took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It had been made that morning and had gotten bitterly strong throughout the day. He added more sugar and milk and then took the seat at the head of the work table. Chase sat across from him while Taub sat to his right. Foreman and Cuddy were still squared off to each other; Foreman standing stiffly by the door and Cuddy standing next to the bookcase, her arms crossed.

"She doesn't have GVHD, but she may have an infection or her Huntington's is reacting to the crash. After her stem cell transplants, her white cell count should have been very low or non-existent with the immunosuppressants. Now they're _slightly_ elevated," he sneered.

Foreman's eyes widened.

"Her white cell count wasn't normal to begin with so the increase suggests infection or even autoimmune."

"What do mean _suggests_? It is an infection! She must be really unlucky if she has an autoimmune disease on top of a neurodegenerative genetic disorder. She probably was coming down with a cold or the flu."

"I'll go start her on anti-biotics then," Taub said and exited the room. Foreman glanced around once more before following the short man out.

Chase looked up thoughtfully.

"The flu would explain why she keeps going in and out of consciousness."

House nodded at the younger man, accepting the statement as plausible. Chase noted it down in his file.

"Can we talk in your office, House?"

Cuddy was already turned towards it and walked in when he gave her a gruff yes. Now that he was seated, his leg was stiff and uncooperative. He rose heavily to his feet and hissed through his teeth.

"You okay?" Chase asked, a note of concern in his voice.

"I'm fine. It's just a cramp," House told him. He was able to straighten up and limp into his office. Cuddy looked on with concern also but knew better than to coddle him in front of one of his fellows. Once he was inside, he plopped himself into his Eames chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. Cuddy closed the blinds for a little more privacy before settling herself on a corner of the footrest.

"You think she's got only the flu?" she asked softly. "It could be only her Huntington's."

"There's a high chance it is her disease, but… we can treat the flu. It's better to eliminate that first." He gripped his thigh as a cramp wrecked havoc on the remaining muscle.

"Have you taken your ibuprofen yet? You shouldn't be in this much pain."

"No, the pain just started. Would you…" he trailed off.

Cuddy rose from her seat and rummaged through his desk before finding the large bottle of pills. She shook two out onto her palm, found an unopened water bottle, and gave them to the diagnostician. He swallowed them quickly and gritted his teeth as a new wave of pain flared.

"House," Cuddy said hesitantly. "You're not hiding your pain from me. Right?"

His leg had begun to relax again and he was feeling a little better.

"This is probably from all the stress of last night and today. We didn't get enough sleep. I stood too long in the OR observation deck, too."

"Okay," she accepted.

He couldn't tell if she believed him. He sure as hell didn't believe himself since the pain had been flaring up more than usual. It could be from the stress, but he doubted it. He was used to dealing with stress. He didn't want to think of any of the other reasons it could be cause by. He felt Cuddy's hand take his. She kissed his knuckles as she stood up.

"I'm going to get a little work done. Want to meet me in the lobby at 5? That'll give us a couple of hours to monitor the situation before picking up Rachel."

He nodded. She gave his hand one more squeeze before leaving the office. The pain in his leg was now at an even four, manageable and, in his case, easy to ignore. He had two hours to kill. The blinds were still shut so the office was dark and quiet. _A perfect time for a nap_, he thought.

An hour and a half later Foreman would shake him awake informing him of the blood dripping from his nose.

* * *

**AN: As always, thank you for reading! I apologize for the long wait on this chapter. I decided to cut this one into two so the next one should be up in a couple days. Reviews are highly encouraged and appreciated! **


	8. Ch 8 To Come Again another Day

**Chapter Eight: **_**…to Come Again another Day. **_

"I'm fine! Don't worry about me. How's the runaway?"

Foreman backed away from House. Blood had dripped from his right nostril, down his lips and right onto his shirt. It wasn't life threatening but it was unusual.

"She's fine and seems to be recovering better. You on the other hand-."

"Mind your business!" House snapped. "It's just a bloody nose."

"Nothing is not 'just' anything with you. You need to get that checked out."

"It's only my sinuses. This weather dried them out and caused my nose to bleed. It's happened before," he fabricated. His sinuses were fine. He searched for tissue on his desk and immediately stuffed it up his nostril to staunch the flow. It had almost stopped. He started to unbutton is bloody shirt to change into a clean one when Foreman spoke again.

"At least have Cuddy or Wilson give you an exam."

To placate his fellow, he gave him a curt nod. His tee-shirt had been saved by his button up from any blood stains. He threw on his blazer and stuffed the stained shirt into his backpack. He gathered it up and moved past Foreman without another glance. Foreman was always too smart for his own good. He didn't see any of his other fellows as he made his way down into the lobby. He saw Cuddy was still in her office doing last minute things. It was ten till so he knew she'd work till her allotted time and not a minute after, especially since they needed to pick up Rachel. He felt an ounce of sympathy towards the girl as she had been cheated out of her Christmas Day, but knowing her grandparents, she was spoiled and loved. Even at that early age, she knew her mother was an important person with a serious job to do. He respected and was fond of the kid for that.

House sat down upon one of the benches lining the walls of the lobby. He faced the clinic doors to see when Cuddy walked out. He coughed. He was a little light headed and started to get a headache. He pulled the bloody tissue from his nose and, as Lou the janitor passed, threw it into the open trash container. Lou gave him a passing glance. Muscle cramping, a bloody nose, headache and fatigue were nothing to be concerned with. He was stressed. That's all this was. Stress.

Cuddy was putting on her scarf as she left the clinic and caught his eye as she walked toward him. He got to his feet, hoping she didn't catch the slight wince he gave. The leg was throbbing again.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look pale, House. And what happened to your shirt?"

"I'm fine, just exhausted. I spilled coffee all over myself and took it off. I'm ready when you are."

He deflected and started toward the entrance doors. The click of her heels let him know she was following and they left PPTH.

* * *

They picked up a babbling and happy Rachel around six that evening. A light snow had begun to fall and the roads were white and ominous as they drove slowly to Cuddy's house. Rachel flung herself from her car seat when they parked in the drive way with Cuddy looking horrified at the fact her three year old knew how to undo her safety belt and car seat straps.

"You should put your car in the garage. It'll be snowed in by tomorrow," House told her.

She picked up Rachel and whispered something in the toddler's ear. Rachel giggled and squirmed out of her mother's grasp and to the remote of the garage clipped to the still open driver's door. House raised a suspicious eyebrow at the Cuddy women, but shrugged it off. He turned to head into the house but was stopped by Cuddy's hand on his arm. Rachel was next to her grinning and jumping up and down with excitement.

"I need to show you something first," Cuddy said. She nodded at her daughter who pressed on the button to the remote with two pudgy fingers. The motor of the garage door opening sounded loudly in the silent night. Classic white-walled tires caught his eyes first before they took in the gorgeous candy apple red motorcycle. His jaw dropped at the metallic beast in front of him. It looked every bit a classic 50s bike but with modern comforts that would benefit his leg. He could smell the new leather and see the almost preternatural shine of the chrome in the dimly lit garage.

"What do you think?"

Cuddy's voice didn't waver but he could sense the hesitance behind it. He couldn't say anything. He entwined their fingers to give her reassure that he did indeed love it but wasn't able to speak. Rachel ran around the bike, looking at it in awe.

"It's called the Softail Deluxe. I described your tastes to the dealer and he recommended this one. I'll have to send him a thank you note judging by the look on your face."

"It's totally awesome," House finally grunted out with a glance at the woman next to him.

"Too bad it's snowing so much. I wanted to see you test drive it."

He squeezed her hand.

"It'll be gone soon enough. You could try it with me."

"I could," she teased.

They closed the garage door and after a final look of longing, House followed Cuddy and Rachel into the House. Rachel headed straight for the presents she had been denied to all day. The adults shrugged off their coats. House sat on the opposite end of the couch so he could prop up his leg. Rachel ripped open the presents with the efficiency of a shredder and 'ow-ed' and 'aw-ed' at every new toy.

"Kitty!"

House smirked as Wilson's duck was abandoned for the new doll. Cuddy smiled at him and mouthed a thank you from behind her happy daughter. With his eyes, House slowly moved his gaze to the last, small gold box under the tree and back to her, hoping she'd get the hint. She did and reached for the badly wrapped item. Her eyes brightened as she saw the necklace. She stood up and sat gingerly on the couch next to him.

"Thank you. Would you put it on for me?"

He sat a little straighter and took the necklace from her. He moved it around her throat, moved her hair to the right and connected the clasp. It did hang perfectly above her breasts. The diamonds surrounding the garnet seemed to make her skin glow. On impulse, he kissed her neck. He heard a soft giggle and saw Rachel watching them closely. He realized he had never kissed Cuddy in front of her and she had perhaps never witnessed any affection between Cuddy and Lucas. Cuddy was very protective of her. Cuddy turned anyway and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"I love it."

He nodded and started to feel self-conscious as the toddler watched him. She gave him a wide smile and jumped into her toys again. Cuddy sat with her back to him still. His leg throbbed again, refusing to let him simmer in the peace that had finally settled on Christmas Day. He tapped Cuddy on the shoulder.

"I'm going to go take a bath. I'm still sore."

"Okay," she answered. He didn't miss the note of worry this time. "I'll make dinner and have it ready when you come out."

He nodded once and got to his feet. The prospect of hot, soothing water on his leg sounded like bliss. In the hallway, he heard Rachel ask what was wrong with him and Cuddy saying that his leg hurt, that he had an "ouchy." He wished it was only that. He closed the bedroom door and locked himself in the bathroom. House stripped out of his clothes and immediately noticed the color of his scar had changed. Instead of the shade lighter than his normal skin color it had been, it was now two shades darker. The next breath he took caught in his chest.

He was not sick. He was sore.

He breathed out forcefully, ignoring his leg and turning on the taps to the tub. He put the water temperature as hot as he could take it. Steam filled the bathroom rather quickly. He lowered himself into the tub, hissing at the heat of the water but taking it. The cramp in his leg appeared to loosen in the water the longer he was in it. He laid back and let the warmth surround him.

At the very least, Thirteen was recovering. Foreman would stay the whole time at the hospital with her. Out of guilt or a sense of loyalty, he had yet to decide. The neurologist would call him for any little change in her status though.

House took a deep breath and tried to clear all the thoughts running through his head. He saw his scar had returned to its normal coloring. The cramp in his leg had eased up.

Ten minutes later, a knock by Cuddy woke him from his stupor. He stood up from the tepid bathwater, rinsed himself off in a quick shower, and threw on flannel pajamas with his usual tee when he was in the bedroom. Cuddy had just made spaghetti and cut up French bread.

"You look better," she remarked as she placed a dish with a large portion in front of him. She ran her hand across his shoulders as she passed.

"It was just the stress making my leg act up. I'll be fine with a good night's sleep."

She smiled at him. She was always so hopeful. Him, not so much. They ate in silence, Rachel the only one occasionally speaking up to inform them of her new toys.

* * *

He was staring up at the ceiling. Cuddy was using his shoulder as a pillow, breathing on neck. She had one leg draped over him and her arm across his chest. They had the covers tucked around them because the house was cold. He felt the slight shift in her breathing.

"Whatever it is you want to talk about, just spit it out," he told her tiredly.

She held onto him tighter.

"You would tell me if the pain became unbearable again."

She said it as a statement.

"Yes."

He felt her lips brush against his neck and felt her relax at his side.

"I can't wait to take the bike out," he hoped this would take her mind off of his leg. He remembered he had a second present for at his apartment. The leather jacket and helmet were in his closet. He would have to stop by there first before they rode out together.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I've always had a fantasy of seeing you straddle a big, long bike like that," he grinned salaciously.

She chuckled. A comfortable silence fell between them. In minutes both had drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**AN: One reviewer remarked why Cuddy would leave Rachel so easily to follow House into the hospital but I couldn't private message so I hope this chapter answered some of your questions. First, this story is from House's perspective so Rachel is going to be very limitedly present. Also, I exercise my writer's license to drop Rachel off at her grandmother's whenever I need Cuddy to be at the hospital. In my mind, she was working on important administrative stuff for Thirteen's hospital stay. It's not relevant **_**yet [hint, hint]**_** to the storyline. We all know Cuddy will always be there for House. So just a little teaser on what's to come in the following chapters.**

**Thank you again for reading and reviewing! It makes this author write faster! **


	9. Ch 9 Nothing

**Chapter Nine: Nothing **

Foreman had texted him around five in the morning letting him know Thirteen was breathing on her own. She still wasn't responsive when she awake, but breathing on her own was a good sign. House woke up alone around nine that morning. Cuddy's room was still dark. He heard a loud peal of laughter and the high pitched voice of Kermit the frog yelling at some other muppet. He could barely hear Cuddy's husky laugh, letting him know she was in the living room watching the movie with Rachel.

He sat up carefully, propping a pillow behind him. His leg felt normal. It was the cold and stress. He breathed out a shaky breath of relief. The acrid, heavenly smell of coffee met his nose and woke him more. He limped out of the bedroom and saw Cuddy cuddled on the couch with Rachel. She was still in her pajamas as well, her robe over them. Rachel was in flannel PJs. Unlike her mother's, her hair was everywhere, giving her a mad scientist look. He smiled. Cuddy raised her eyebrows in surprise. This good mood must have something to do with it, he thought. He was normally a bear in the morning.

"Morning," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Morning," Cuddy answered. "Coffee is ready in the kitchen."

He nodded. He could see Michael Cane as Scrooge walk towards the Ghost of Christmas Future, the grim specter looking like the angel of death. A large black hand with abnormally long fingers beckoned Scrooge to follow him. His skin crawled suddenly. He saw Rachel's eyes brighten with a scared, curiosity. She didn't look away though. It was a child's inquisitiveness of the unknown whether it frightened them or not. With another smile, he walked into the kitchen to get his first cup of coffee of the day. He saw Cuddy come in after he finished preparing his cup. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands rubbing his stomach.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," her voice muffled behind him said.

He felt her breathe in and the hot release of her exhale through his shirt.

"I told you it was just stress. Geez, you worry too much, woman."

She laughed, squeezing him hard for a moment.

"Are you going to go in today?"

"Yeah, Thirteen is breathing on her own. I want to see if I can talk to her when she's awake."

"Okay. I'm just going to spend the day with Rachel. Call me if anything happens."

"I will."

He turned in her arms and kissed her forehead. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders.

"Can you postpone going in for an hour or so?" she asked innocently.

He looked down to see her grinning at him. He pretended to gasp in shock.

"But Rachel's here," he whispered theatrically, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"She's started a new movie which she'll fall right asleep to in about ten minutes. We have about an hour…"

She checked on her daughter one more time before dragging him to the bedroom. She rubbed herself sensually against his body, making him respond to her. They kissed deeply, holding each other tightly. Her hands ran under his shirt and pulled it off of him. They moved up his chest and wrapped around his neck. Her robe was forgotten on the floor. He had his lips trail down her neck to her chest and wasted no time in pulling her nightgown up and off. He pressed her against the wall and pushed his knee between her legs. Her skin was hot and smooth. She used the wall as leverage to push him towards the bed. The sheets were thrown back and still in the same place he left them that morning. His back met the mattress. Cuddy followed him down, her legs straddling him and her arms, holding her up, were above his shoulders. Her hair framed both of them as she leaned down to kiss him again. His hands ran down her back to her waist and over her hips. The soft skin of the back of her thighs trembled as he ran his fingers over them. His hands moved to her calves and moved up her body again, grasping her ass. She pressed her body to his fully, trapping his erection between their stomachs. He groaned as she rubbed her stomach into it. Her underwear and his flannel pants were the only obstacles between them. She broke from the kiss and moved down. She hooked her fingers into the waist band and pulled them off, taking his boxer briefs with them. The cool air made his over sensitized skin goose bump. He felt her lips kiss his knee, then his left thigh, and the bone of his hip. He closed his eyes hoping she was heading to where he needed her most.

"Ah," he moaned.

Her lips kissed the tip his erection. Her tongue made him flinch when it wrapped around the very top of him. It felt amazing. She took him in his mouth and applied a gentle suction. Her mouth was so warm and… His hands gripped the sheet under him. He took a chance and looked down. He could see her silky black hair covering his stomach and thighs. He reached down with his right hand and moved her hair to the left. Her silver eyes looked up at him and didn't turn away. She was so erotic. He threw his head back, not being able to look any longer. He moaned and whimpered for several more minutes until he felt her lips leave him.

"Huh? Whe-."

She kissed him hard. Their lips separated in an audible smack.

"Don't whine. I'll take care of you," she gasped in his ear. She nipped him.

He gripped her hips and noticed she had taken off her underwear without him noticing. He wrapped an arm around her waist and the other around her shoulder. She kissed his cheek and reached down to grasp his cock and place it at her entrance. The heat and wetness made him thrust up and into her suddenly. They both gasped and held the other tighter. He could feel her muscles gripping him and fluttering. They didn't move for a minute.

Cuddy rolled her hips. He could feel the drag of his cock against her tight walls. She moved fast above him, making every roll and thrust count due to not knowing whether they were going to be interrupted by the three year old in the living room. Her body was flushed and sweaty and he expected his was, too, with the way he was feeling. He whispered all manner of naughty comments and obscenities to her, making her laugh or moan depending on what he said. Her strokes became erratic so he held her to his chest and thrust hard up to her, his pelvis grinding into hers. Her head fell to his shoulder as she writhed against him. He grunted as he felt his balls tighten up almost painfully. He then felt her tense and shudder, the walls of her sex clamping down on him. She was crying out his name and sobbing into his neck. He thrust through her orgasm and let himself go, bliss invading his mind as he felt himself pulse inside of her.

House couldn't tell how much time had elapsed from when he ejaculated to when he opened his eyes again. He was still inside of her, half-hard but enjoying the random fluttering of her muscles. She lay on top of him, boneless and glowing. He took in the digital clock next to him and saw a half hour had passed from when they had started.

"Come on, nympho. I need to shower and get going."

She sighed happily and rolled off of him, curling up with her pillow. He sat up but took one last appreciative look. She hadn't pulled the sheets up so she was stretched out naked, skin flushed and looking thoroughly laid.

"What happened to 'I need to get going?'"

"Buzzkill."

He leaned forward and pressed one last kiss to her satisfied lips and then went into the bathroom to shower for the day.

* * *

For once Princeton-Plainsboro didn't look as busy as it usually did. The snow plows had done their work that morning and cleared the roads so that was probably helping the decrease of patients coming in through the ER. The trip to the ICU was uneventful. He ran into Chase who was leaving for a late lunch. Taub hadn't made it into work for some unknown reason. When he walked to Thirteen's room, Foreman was slumped in a chair asleep. Thirteen was sitting up. Her eyes followed him in and she gave him a small smile.

"Hi House," she whispered. Her voice was raspy and low from the tube that was stuck down her throat.

"You can talk. Foreman didn't mention that." He answered her in a low tone so Foreman would not wake. He seated himself on her right side since that was the arm not broken.

"He didn't know. I didn't say anything when they took out the tube. I figured you'd grill me for information and pass it along."

Her light green eyes were playful.

"You're right about that. Do you remember what happened?"

"I remember being hit by that truck. I don't remember what happened between then and waking up choking on the tube."

"You were in surgery for over nine hours. I take it you already know your condition?"

"Yep. I feel like shit and most of my body is covered in plaster. I don't think I have any neurological problems."

"When Boring there wakes up, I'll have him give you an examination."

She laughed softly at his joke and winced.

"You're bruised all over so it'll be a couple weeks until you're comfortable again. In another two or three, a surgeon will have to reset your legs."

"Goodie, that sounds fun," she replied sarcastically.

They did not mention her need for physical therapy or even the chance she may not walk again. She didn't need to hear about that. He knew she didn't want to. She knew it even without the uncomfortable look he gave her.

"I was going to call you," Thirteen suddenly said. "I want back on the team."

Her eyes were bright and she had a determined look on her face. He didn't believe her.

"So we'll have a doctor who limps and one in a wheel chair. Maybe we can get an amputee next?"

"I'm sorry I'm more crippled than you are now," she said sarcastically. "I didn't mean to steal your thunder."

He smirked at her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Foreman stirring in his chair. The neurologist would be awake in a moment.

"Before Ex wakes up over there," he grabbed her right wrist, his thumb on her pulse point, "when did your cognitive abilities start declining? You lied to me at the bar."

Thirteen lost all the remaining color in her face. He watched as different emotions crossed over her face at his question: surprise, fear, disbelief, amazement, fury. She tried to pull her wrist from his grasp but she was still too weak. He could feel her heartbeat increase and heard the beeping of the monitor increase also.

"I don't know-."

"While you were intabated, you woke up several times. I was the only one to realize you weren't _just_ in delirium from the crash. It's a symptom of your Huntington's."

She stared down at her feet. He could feel her tremble next to him. He knew Foreman was awake now but chose not to interrupt House, keeping his eyes closed. He was a horrible faker.

"I didn't know exactly what was happening," she spoke every word slowly, deliberately. "When I arrived here, I was going to have Foreman give me an MIR and a CAT scan."

"Sure you were."

She narrowed her eyes up at him. She gave him the impression of a very pissed off feline.

"You were going back to your original modus operandi, _avoidance_," he continued. "This time though, once Foreman gives you those tests, you may have the excuse of your disease."

He stood up. His leg ached a little from not stretching it out. Foreman had finally opened his eyes and looked at the woman in the bed solemnly. House limped out of the room without a backward glance.

* * *

Dusk was falling, throwing his office into darkness. He didn't bother to turn on a light. The security lights would come on in another fifteen minutes anyway. His big, red tennis ball was in both hands. It was thrown between them quickly. He didn't need to see the ball clearly to know where to throw it. He needed to leave, to get back to Cuddy's…

The anger was still fresh in his veins nevertheless.

What a waste of flesh and bones. He was angry at the universe for not being fair. He was angry at Thirteen for being such a coward. He was angry because there was nothing _he_ could do to help her.

Nothing.

With dementia already appearing, she would be lucky to reach forty-five. This was one of those rare times he wished he was wrong. He knew Foreman heard every single syllable he uttered to Thirteen about her disease. He had received a page from the man informing him that he was doing the MRI and CAT scan immediately and would be up to the office once he was finished. That was an hour ago. He'd give Foreman another half before he packed up his stuff.

He was going to rip Chase and Taub new holes in their bodies for not being there. Taub may have had the defense of his crumbling marriage, but that was no excuse to not be in the office when working on a case, especially one that dealt with a fellow colleague. Chase had no excuse and would be promptly led to the executioner's gate when he walked through those clear doors tomorrow. House looked forward to both men's reactions. He paused his thoughts for a moment when he felt his phone vibrate.

"House," he answered without looking at the caller ID.

"Hi. Are you still at the hospital?" Cuddy asked from the other side.

"Yeah, I'll be here for an hour more," he said softly, the anger waning to the sound of her voice. "Thirteen is worse off than we originally thought."

"What's wrong? I thought she was-."

"She's started having neurological symptoms due to her Huntington's," he cut off her question quickly. "Foreman's down with her getting her an MRI and a CAT scan. He should be back soon."

"Okay," he heard her sigh. "I'll see you in about an hour then."

"Okay," he replied. He waited a moment to hear the click of her ending the call. He leaned back in his chair, his ball now in his lap with his feet on his desk. The security lights outside flared to life, making the objects in his office cast long shadows against the wall.

Another ten minutes had passed when Foreman finally entered the office. He switched on the lights. House blinked several times, forcing his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness.

"Remy's not as bad as we thought," he started.

"Remy?" House raised an eyebrow.

"Not now, House. She is starting to exhibit very slight symptoms but her scans came back relatively normal. There's a minor difference in the circumference of her brain, but I didn't see anything else." He handed over copies of the scan to the diagnostician. House put them on his light board to get a better look.

"We could just be at the beginning of the cognitive progression," House muttered, not seeing anything to indicate a major problem. "We know she's already aggressive, compulsive, hypersexual, depressed and her ability to plan for the future sucks. We'll start to see these worsen in the coming months if she's dying more quickly than we thought."

"I've already put her on a low dose of Tetrabenazine for her chorea. We'll have to monitor her to make sure it doesn't make her depression worse."

House nodded to Foreman who made an about face and rushed out of the room again. House suspected that he was going to try to get more information out of the young, pretty doctor. He reached for his back pack and packed quickly. He was hungry and irritated and wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of the hospital.

There was nothing more he could do there for the moment anyway.

* * *

**AN: Thank you to all you, Readers, for the reviews, favorites, alerts, and especially the favorite author. It's incredible to me and I feel so unworthy of your admiration. I hope I continue to give you guys good chapters and stories in the future! Tell me what you think of this chapter! It killed me with all the medical jargon but I felt it had to be done. Of course, I took what I wanted from research and applied it to the story so it's not accurate to real medicine. That's fiction for you. **


	10. Ch 10 To Each His Own

**AN: So sorry for the delay in posting, dear Readers. I will put the blame on real life. First off, I have a wonderful new Beta, Akemi1582! Many thanks to her for correcting all my mistakes, because, yes, I make a lot of mistakes. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. Let me know what you think below. Thanks again so much for reading! I won't keep you waiting long for Ch. 11. **

**Chapter Ten: To Each His Own **

_He was in the main hallway of Mayfield. The walls were still lined with their wooden panels and cheap floral wallpaper. Blank photo frames hung on the wall, each with bright white backgrounds. Empty. He knew instinctively the whole hospital was empty. No sound permeated through the walls or in the air. He shivered. It was icy in __the__ hallway. He tried to walk forward and found that the corridor only stretched longer with each shaky step he took. He felt uneven. Looking ahead, he saw sections of the hallway start to darken, the overhead lights blinking out slowly, one by one. This wasn't right. He tried to turn around to stay in the light and couldn't. He could only face the approaching darkness. Fear crept up his body like a boa constrictor, wrapping around his chest and binding him tight. He felt his breath catch in his throat. The darkness was in front of him now, unyielding and fathomless. He tried to struggle once and was able to look down to see what had hold of his legs… _

_Or leg. _

_He was missing his right leg from the thigh, down. Terror gripped his heart and squeezed. The lights above him blinked, once, twice, three times before he was able to finally take a deep, sucking breath and-

* * *

_

"House!"

He jolted awake. Cuddy was sitting up next to him in a dark blue camisole and matching flannel bottoms. He was raised up on his forearms. His eyes adjusted to the dark room. He felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. Sweat soaked his shirt, making it stick to him. He was cold. The hairs on his arms were raised.

"You were having a nightmare, House," he heard Cuddy say quietly next to him. She placed a hand on his cheek, her thumb rubbing reassuring circles. He blinked, hoping it would get rid of the images that still lingered at the edge of his consciousness.

"I-." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I woke you up."

"Are you okay?"

He was beginning to hate that question. He knew he had no right to be irritated at her concern, but it grated on his nerves.

"It was just a nightmare."

He moved to turn onto his side and winced, hissing audibly. His leg was cramped with the pain radiating down to his foot. It felt like his calve was locked in a perpetual flex. He tried moving his foot and cried out. It felt like he had the shin splint from hell. He rolled onto his back, hands reflexively holding his leg. He felt Cuddy shift closer to him, straddling his left leg. Her hands fell to his and helped massage the pain away; her hands working downward to his calve. Her thumb dug into the muscle, causing him to flinch.

"You shouldn't be in this much pain. We need to get you to the hospital," her voice was clear and authoritative. She was in Dean mode.

"No!"

His vehemence caused her to glare at him questioningly.

"No? House, your stress theory is bogus. I haven't seen you in this much pain since Mayfield. You need to go to Plainsboro."

He met her gaze when she mentioned the _other_ hospital. Her lips were drawn tight together and matched the worry she showed through her eyes.

"It'll go away. It's just-."

"You said it would go away two days ago. It's not. We need to see what's wrong."

"A huge chunk of muscle is missing! That's what's wrong!" He snapped.

She physically recoiled from his outburst. He brought a shaky hand to his face and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He felt the bed shift and saw her getting up from it.

"What are you doing?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm getting ready to go to the hospital," she said sharply as she turned on the room light and pulled clothes from her closet. "It's time for me to get up anyway."

"So that's it? The last ten minutes didn't happen?"

"It did. I don't see the point in arguing with an asshole who won't admit he needs help. You do know Einstein's theory of insanity, right?"

He scowled at her. He had forgotten how quickly and deep her retorts could cut him.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. He didn't mean to upset her.

"Not good enough this time," she threw back over her shoulder as she walked into the bathroom.

He sat up in the bed, trying not to jostle his leg any more than necessary.

"What? You're going to be pissed at me for not going to PPTH for useless tests?"

He heard a bottle drop into the sink before seeing Cuddy stand in the doorframe, seething.

"How do you know the tests will be useless? When did you get so fucking omnipotent to predict test results, huh? I think you're more afraid of what they'll reveal. I didn't think you were such a goddamned coward!"

Cuddy was flushed in anger, her eyes shining with resolve. He could see the rapid flutter of her pulse point in her neck. He looked away at her accusing stare and tried to think of any other reason for not going to the hospital. He couldn't because she was right. He was acting like a stubborn patient… _He was a stubborn patient_. Just the thought of tests made his stomach clench with revulsion.

"Will you drive me in?" He blurted out.

He could tell she was still angry as she nodded. He watched her as she returned to the bathroom. He'd let her cool off before trying to speak with her again. Cuddy was always a spitfire when she was pissed. He heard the shower come to life.

Getting dressed proved a little challenging. He could hardly stand. He used the bed for support and carefully moved the fabric of his jeans over his scar. It was darkly colored again. He cringed as the rough texture of the fabric abraded his skin. There was no reason for his leg to be hurting again this time. He listened intently to the steady hum of the shower and then to Cuddy moving around the small room, imagining her putting on her war paint for the long day ahead. It was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

They didn't speak to each other as they drove to the hospital, but she did grip his free hand tightly, entwining their fingers. He took it as a sign that she had calmed down. His right hand was rubbing and digging into his leg, trying to make the piercing pain lessen. She parked in her space in the underground lot. It was probably safer for him to maneuver on solid ground rather than ice and slush. It took him a minute to get out of the car. He ground his teeth. This was so embarrassing. Cuddy stood next to him. He noticed she was in flat shoes rather than the do-me pumps. He stepped gingerly, leaning on his cane more heavily. Cuddy's motive for the flats became apparent when she tried to wrap an arm around his waist to help him.

"I'm easily sixty pounds heavier than you. You're going to hurt yourself," he told her, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. She was only concerned.

"It's me or a wheelchair," she told him.

"Go get me a chair. I'll even let you push me," he grumbled.

She trotted the remaining 15 feet to the elevator where extra wheelchairs were set off to the side for patients. She pushed one to him and helped him settle into the seat. He was too tall for the chair but he wasn't going to be sitting in it for long. He did help her by reaching down and turning the wheels to get momentum from a dead stop. Cuddy was strong but he didn't need her to pull a muscle or strain herself because of him. They rode the elevator in silence until they reached the main lobby. PPTH was busy. Nurses in pastel pink ran to and fro while patients and family members loitered around, some complaining about the lack of staff, others quiet and looking very ill. Cuddy wheeled him past all the commotion and to the main elevators. Several of the nurses and doctors eyed him but didn't make any remarks. Most didn't even look at him, glancing only at Cuddy questioningly. He was proud to see her ignore them all and not give them anymore gossip than what was already bound to get around.

He watched as she pressed the button to his floor. He had forgotten to ask who was going to be his attending [_ugh, _he thought] and guessed it was either Foreman or Taub. Chase would be too lenient with him and bend to his every whim. Wilson would immediately think he had cancer and was also too close to him. He would never in a million years be objective.

The elevator opened and Cuddy pushed him past Wilson's dark office. He wondered briefly where his best friend was but was side tracked when he saw Foreman walk out of the meeting room, his eyes unusually bright but his face set in its usual blankness.

"How long has the pain been back?"

"Longer than your-."

"More than three days at least," Cuddy cut short his reply.

Foreman nodded, looking wearily at his bosses. House felt an ounce of guilt for putting even more pressure on the already hassled neurologist, but he didn't have to accept his case. He was just annoyed and in pain. He wasn't sick. He noticed Foreman looking between him and Cuddy hesitantly.

"What _medications_ have you taken?"

House wanted to laugh. He knew what the young doctor was implying.

"I haven't taken any drugs or vicodin or heroin. I wish I did with the pain I'm experiencing and you making me sit here in a fucking hallway."

"I had to ask," Foreman said. "We'll have to run more tests so I'll get you in a room quickly."

"Oh goodie."

He didn't have to look to know Cuddy rolled her eyes. He could tell by the small smirk Foreman gave her over his shoulder. Cuddy waited with him in his office as Foreman made the preparations. An hour passed quietly. Cuddy would absent mindedly rub the back of his hand. Every five minutes she would ask him how he was feeling. He bit the inside of his cheek. She was nervous and worried and there was no way he could comfort her at the moment. His temper was short and his patience was even more so as the clock ticked away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cuddy yawn.

"You haven't had any coffee. Why don't you go and make some for the both of us?"

He tried to speak in the lightest tone he could. He really couldn't stand her fussing. If she was busy, it would take her mind off of him. She tried to stifle another yawn, conceded defeat and stood up, heading to the corner sink. Her flats made her look tiny even from his vantage point in the chair. He noticed her skirt wasn't perfectly straight and her blouse was still a little wrinkled in the back. She had left her hair curly, pinning it back with several clips. He heard the grumbled hum of the percolator starting. The steady drip of the liquid was heard only a minute later.

Chase walked in, glancing at Cuddy curiously and then looking over in his direction. House saw the Aussie had bags under his eyes and his hair was greasy. He said a quick 'good morning' to Cuddy before walking up to House. House narrowed his eyes at the young doctor.

"Do you even remember what her name was or where she lives after you crawled away from her place?" He snarled.

Chase quickly looked affronted. Cuddy looked over her shoulder, checking to see if she should intervene no doubt, House thought. He gave her a warning glare and she turned back to the almost finished coffee.

"What I do outside the hospital-."

"Is affecting your work! You took off for two days, leaving Foreman to look after your fellow colleague by himself. Taub was God knows where so I only had one member of staff to handle my case!"

"The case is solved! There's nothing we can do for Thirteen now."

"Do you even know she's awake and talking? Did you know she was having further neurological symptoms?" House growled questioningly.

Chase blanched.

"This is what's going to happen," House started. "You're going to go relieve Foreman of watching Thirteen and get reacquainted with her file. When you're done and she's resting, you're going to find out where the hell Taub is. Got it or do I have to say it again in aborigine?" House ended with a sneer. Chase nodded silently and made his way out of the office. He looked like a kicked dog wandering out of his master's home with his tail between his legs. To House, Chase had gotten off easy due to the leg pain. He would have to think of more ways to humiliate him and Taub when he wasn't in pain.

Cuddy walked over to him and handed him a cup of coffee, already prepared the way he liked it. His right hand still kneaded the remaining muscle of his thigh. The pain was constant now, instead of stabbing and throbbing. It made it a little easier to deal with.

"I didn't know how lax Chase had gotten with his work," she said as she settled herself down next to him.

"The playboy routine was okay in the beginning but now he's turned into the pain in the ass want-to-be-celebutante."

"He looked as white as a ghost when he walked out of here so your threats worked. They probably won't faze Taub much so you're going to have to think of something else," she smiled.

They sipped their coffee quietly. Twenty minutes later House was led into a private room next to Thirteen's.

* * *

"I'm going to give you Flupirtine because —."

"Morphine or any other opioid pain medication might give me an overdose due to my former vicodin addiction. Knew that already," House said with a wave of his hand.

Foreman nodded and hung the bag filled with the medication and saline. House already had an I.V. attached to his left hand. It throbbed every time he moved it but he didn't say a word of complaint. Cuddy sat to his right, a hand on his foreman. She looked between him and Foreman silently.

"I've scheduled you for a MRI, CT and MR angiography. We'll be able to see what changes, if any, are happening to your leg."

"You think this is all to do with my leg?" House asked, slightly skeptical.

"It could be. I'm not going to rule out the possibility that this may also be an effect of long-term drug and alcohol abuse, too," Foreman stated plainly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cuddy frown. She still didn't say a word. He found that odd, but didn't comment himself. He nodded to Foreman. The neurologist spared him one last glance before leaving the room. That had gone well for him.

"You should go and start your work. I'll be fine here," he told her. He could feel the pain beginning to lessen.

"How long has the pain really been back, House?" She asked quietly. Her grey eyes met his blue ones with that pleading look that _always_ made his heart clench.

"I'm always in pain," he answered quietly. "This week it's just hopped up to a 7 and 8."

She nodded.

"We'll figure out why it suddenly spiked."

She said it in a voice so full of hope that it only confirmed his suspicion of her fear. She squeezed his foreman as she stood from the chair. She kissed him for a moment, her lips warm and soft against his, before she stepped back.

"I'll be back in a couple hours. You should rest."

He watched her exit the room. He leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling. He wore only a green patient gown and his boxers. The gown was rough against his skin and felt too foreign for his taste. He pulled the sheets that were gathered at his waist up to his chest to get warmer. The hospital was always cold, but he had the protection of his jeans and blazer then. The stark whiteness of the room bothered him. The steady hum of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. He assumed the rest of the hospital was not that busy since he couldn't hear the usual racket the nurses made.

He sighed contemptuously.

Why did his life have to be interrupted by his leg? Every minute of every hour of every day some part of his mind was focused on his leg. The missing quadriceps made him preoccupied with pain; haunted him throughout the day and night, and never let him forget that they were missing by continuously showing him his limitations. It rankled on his nerves.

He hated his self from twenty years ago, fit, cocky, and without a worry about how many stairs he could climb or how close his parking spot was to the front door of a building. That man didn't have a gaudy blue placard pasted on his license plates or hanging from his rear view mirror. That man didn't have a cane or crutch. He hated his self from ten years ago, proud, arrogant, and stupid. If he had been any other man, a young endocrinologist would have convinced him to amputate his leg for _the greater good_. Maybe he would have had a prosthetic which would have been a little painful to wear. Maybe the physical therapy would have been excruciating, but that kind of pain had a definite timeline. It would have ended…

This would go on for the rest of his miserable, short life. Indefinitely.

Ripping his thoughts away from the past, he noticed a tightening in his chest. It felt like a rubber band was around his heart, squeezing the muscle and not letting it contract. He heard the beep of the heart monitor quicken and then dim, becoming fuzzy as if he were hearing it from a bad radio. His peripheral vision darkened and his sight became pin holed. He saw two nurses and Chase run into the room.

Then it was black.


	11. Ch 11 Just Fine

**AN: Many, many thanks to the ever lovely Akemi1582 for being a wonderful Beta. I struggled with this chapter hence the long wait. Enjoy. **

* * *

**Chapter 11: Just Fine **

His eyelids were heavy when he tried to open them the first time. The pale color of the hospital ceiling met his eyes. His vision was still blurring but with a couple of blinks it cleared significantly. Oh, his head hurt. He tried to take a breath and became conscious of the plastic tube down his throat. He couldn't help but cough violently. He heard the quick screech of a chair being pushed back and saw his girlfriend lean over him, unscrewing the mouth guard and strap to the ventilation tube.

"Cough one more time as I pull it out," she said, the doctor in her emerging.

He coughed hard, his throat raw and sore. Cuddy pulled the tube straight out moving it onto a tray. House used his free hand to slowly wipe the spit that had gathered on his bottom lip from the coughing and the tube. He grimaced at the taste of plastic still in his mouth. It was harsh and unrelenting.

"I'm so happy you're awake," he heard her say next.

She was in a gray fitted t-shirt, a black sweater, and jeans. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail. He noticed she wasn't wearing any make up. It didn't make her any less beautiful, he thought. She held his hand as she stood next to him.

"How long have you been here? Those are your emergency locker clothes," he rasped. His voice was incredibly hoarse and scratchy even to his own ears.

"Is that your subtle way of asking how long you've been out of it?"

"Maybe. I'm betting two days."

"Four days. Chase was able to get you stabilized but you didn't wake up and weren't breathing on your own. Your team has ruled out infections and autoimmune. Foreman is focusing on atypical complications from your infarction. Masters is researching it. Chase and Taub think it may be substance abuse and have biopsied your liver and are running blood and urine tests. No one has a clue what's going on really."

She squeezed his hand, looking for reassurance he wasn't able to give.

"That's all they've done?" he asked snidely. "What the hell have they've been doing?"

"Thirteen," she said without any follow-up explanation. Her inflection made it clear she didn't want to tell him anymore. He found the remote to his bed and sat himself straighter. His body ached and protested the upright movement, but settled once he leaned back against the pillows again.

"What happened?"

"Your potassium level jumped dangerously high and put you in cardiac arrest," she deflected beautifully.

"You know who I meant. I could read my file later and figure out what's wrong."

"You don't have an idea?" she questioned. He saw the twitch of her lower lip. Her eyes were haggard.

"About me? Nope. Thirteen on the other hand, I might have an idea."

"Don't be flippant, please," she asked softly.

He took a closer look at her. She had slept in the chair next to his bed, probably for all three nights. Her hair was clean but it was obvious she hadn't had any of her snobby hair products to keep it from frizzing slightly. The small bags under her eyes were darker and the lines around her eyes seemed deeper. Taking a deep, shuttering breath, he smelled the cheap soap the hospital provided. She had stayed by his side.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely.

Her eyes brightened and shined. He spoke up before she was able to open his mouth.

"Please, no waterworks. Can I read my file now so I can see what kind of idiots my team are?"

She smiled and nodded. She retrieved the blue file from the end of the bed and handed it to him without another word.

* * *

"We've ruled out cardiovascular disease, chronic pancreatitis, cancer, cardiomyopathy and hematologic diseases. Your biopsies were negative. We're still running your blood work for other conditions."

"Whoever added hematologic diseases is an idiot. Cancer for that matter, too."

His team was sitting all around him, writing pads and blue files in each of their laps. Foreman was sitting on his right, Taub next to him, further from his place on the bed. Chase was to his left. Cuddy had been gone for over an hour, leaving him to pursue his file at leisure. The team had walked in ten minutes before, re-reading his file with Foreman finally speaking up and telling him what they ruled out. Masters was avoiding him for some reason. He'd deal with her later. House scoffed and spoke over Foreman's last words.

"The pain is in the patient's leg due to an infarction that happened almost fifteen years ago now which resulted in muscle death. Said muscles were removed, leaving the patient in chronic pain. Opiates were used to deal with the pain, ending in addiction and a trip to the funny farm. After a successful rehab, the patient had stayed drug free." House looked up from his blue folder. "Did you guys catch all that?"

Taub rolled his eyes. The other guys stayed silent.

"Alcohol abuse is still on the table. You had changed that bottle of scotch in your desk at least once a week before you started dating Cuddy. It could still be a cardiovascular disease in one of your organs that's throwing clots."

"The angiogram didn't show severe narrowing of any of the arteries in his leg or heart," Chase drawled, idly flipping through pages in the folder. "The liver didn't have the damage to the extent necessary for it to be throwing clots."

"Hardening?" House asked with a raised eyebrow.

Chase nodded. "It wasn't that bad considering your… habits."

"That could be explained by the alcohol and vicodin abuse," House murmured. "I would've been surprised if there wasn't hardening."

"It's not the liver. Despite you being a former addict and old, you're in good shape," Foreman added.

"I'm not in good shape if I'm in a hospital bed surrounded by you three," House sneered. "Something else has to be causing the increase in pain and why I suddenly had a heart attack."

"Your ANAs have ruled out autoimmune," Chase supplied.

House heaved a sigh of annoyance. He spoke quietly.

"Stop telling me what you ruled out and tell me what you think it could be!"

"Something genetic," Taub threw out. "Wilson told us about your biological father. Chase talked to the gu—"

"You talked to him?" House snarled. "What the fu—"

"We didn't say why we were speaking to him!" Chase disrupted him. "I called the guy and told him I was doing a random study on genetic health issues and how well informed family members are. Cardiovascular diseases run in his family. He's on statins to treat it. His mother and grandfather all died from myocardial infarctions."

House sat sullenly in his bed. The next time he saw Wilson, he was going to punch the oncologist and give him a black eye for blabbing about his… sperm donor. He was a bit taken back that he hadn't seen his best friend in the last two hours that he had been awake but he assumed that Cuddy either hadn't told him yet or he was busy trying to cure the incurable.

"I doubt it's genetic. I would have had a condition at least since puberty."

"If we take into account your first infarction—"

"My only infarction!"

"—then we're looking at something that has spanned a decade at least," Chase argued.

"So timing matters here? Because I have to say I've always been a bit early—Cuddy can verify."

"If this is connected to your first infarction—which I think it is, —we need to look at conditions that could explain your leg, the current pain, and why you suddenly had a heart attack," Foreman said.

"The only connections we haven't ruled out would be the cardiovascular system. Maybe something's wrong with the veins or arteries themselves," Taub started.

"That gives us jack shit again," House replied.

But as the words left his mouth, he watched as Foreman's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. The neurologist got to his feet and set his eyes on the Aussie.

"Thrombus. Did we notice any in our samples?"

"What do thrombus have to do with—?"

Chase's face became animated immediately.

"Are you thinking—because that could explain the length of time between—"

"And why there's more pain present—"

"And the sudden heart attack!"

House raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Foreman and Chase seemingly knew what the other was thinking, acting as if their thought process were perfectly in sync. He found it very aggravating.

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

"We have to make sure before you shoot our theory down and make us look like asses."

Chase had gotten to his feet as well and followed Foreman out of the room quickly. House closed his file and set it roughly onto the table next to him.

"That was very obnoxious," he muttered to himself.

Taub was still in the room and was trying his best to be inconspicuous, closing his file and getting up quietly.

"Where do you think you're going?" House snapped.

"I was just going to help Foreman and Chase," the former plastic surgeon phrased in a question.

"Sit down. Where the hell were you?"

Taub sighed and sat back down heavily in his seat.

"Rachel and I are getting a divorce. We were talking to lawyers, dividing our assets, that sort of stuff," he said wearily.

"She finally kicked your ass to the curb," House inquired.

"I told her I wanted a divorce. It wasn't fair to the both of us."

House's face took on a look of surprise. He nodded to the short man, allowing him to leave the room, unmolested.

Left alone in his room, House laid his bed back flat. The pain was starting to creep up on him again, the slow throbbing keeping time with his pulse. He needed a new IV. The nurse was supposed to be in to change it in ten minutes. He'd bet she'd do it in fifteen to make him suffer. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. His throat still felt raw. His chest felt sore. He was glad the pain meds weren't making him that hazy, but they were still making his thoughts unclear. It was like he had them but couldn't hold onto them, like sand in a tight fist. He was annoyed and frustrated with himself that Foreman and Chase had thought of a condition to fit his. _If it was something more_, he thought. He was supposed to find it. He was supposed to find the answer to redeem his greatest _setback_ and turn it into something he could forget about, something he could scoff at with real pleasure instead of the self-deprecating sarcasm that left ash in his mouth. The tendrils of exhaustion started to slowly pull him under. He didn't fight them. He let himself slip into sleep, letting his mind go blissfully blank for the hour or two he would rest.

* * *

When he next woke up, he didn't open his eyes. He could hear Wilson muttering to himself, going over various cancers that might be the cause of his problem. The man's voice was like a buzzing in his ear in the calm room. House knew the nurse had changed his IV and given him fresh medication. He could feel a pressure in his leg but it wasn't painful. Just irritating. For the first time in days though, he felt rested.

"What time is it?" He croaked. He didn't bother opening his eyes. He chuckled silently as he visualized Wilson flinching.

"You're awake."

"Thanks for stating the obvious. The time?"

"It's a quarter after five."

"Have Foreman and Chase been back yet? They think they've solved my case."

"Haven't seen them. Cuddy told me not to tell you about Thirteen but obviously you're not going to let it go, right? That was your next question wasn't it?"

Wilson smirked.

"You wish… but now that you mentioned it, please continue."

"She's still stable, still beaten up badly, but she's tough. She's holding in there."

House opened one eye, squinting and saw Wilson had his back towards him. He knew his voice had sounded off. He raised the bed to a sitting position and stared at the man's back.

"It's rude not to face the person you're speaking to."

Wilson turned. He had the same dark bags under his eye as Cuddy but his hair was messy, as if he ran his hand through it too many times and his shirt wrinkled in the back.

"Why are you all disheveled? Surely not to stay up with Cuddy as she watched over me?" He mocked.

"No, sorry, I let Cuddy play the 'worried love one' role. I had a patient who needed me last night and I haven't been able to run home to shower and change. I thought we were discussing Thirteen and not my grungy state?"

"You said she was fine."

"Mostly fine."

"Make up your mind, man."

"Physically, she's progressing with the meds Foreman put her on in regards to her Huntington's. Her injuries from the car crash are healing better than expected, too. Two days ago she was able to wiggle her toes, albeit painfully. She has about six metal pins in each leg."

"Ouch."

"You're telling me. Anyway, it's her mental state that's worrying. She hasn't really talked to anyone for four days. It's like she's feeling sorry for herself rather than her depressed."

"She's fine. I yelled at her before I ended up here. She's probably taken what I told her to heart."

"You really did a number on her then. She's miserable."

"It was her own fault. She was running away from her situation again."

"Said the man who ignored his own semi-dire symptoms until he's forced to come to the hospital by his girlfriend and then has a heart attack to boot. What a role model," Wilson smirked.

"My situation's different."

"How so?"

"I know I'm not dying."

"Not any more than her at the moment. She might even outlast you if continue to ignore the overall problem."

House huffed, "Well, if Foreman or Chase would tell me the overall problem, I'd know better then."

Wilson paced around the room restlessly, his arms crossed over his chest. House watched him, his movements almost agitated and sharp. Wilson would look at him and then move his gaze to the monitors, not being able to hold eye contact with him for more than a few seconds.

"What else is going on? You look like you're hyped up on caffeine. It's making me dizzy watching you."

Wilson shook his head.

"It's nothing…"

They both turned their heads towards the hallway as a shout was yelled from the next room. Several nurses ran by, one with a crash cart, and disappeared into the next room. House could hear other footsteps running towards them. Wilson stood frozen next to House. With a smack to his arm, Wilson looked down at House.

"Why are you still standing there? Go find out what's wrong!" House growled.

Wilson nodded and jogged out of the room to join the crowd. House couldn't see anyone any more. He could hear the murmur of several people talking at once, the angry yell of Foreman and Taub's reedy voice answering back. Then all he could hear was the steady hum of the machines next to him. He tried to raise himself up more but couldn't manage it. He felt too doped up to even attempt to get out of the bed. He would be too unsteady on his feet. _This is so fucking frustrating_, he thought. The seconds ticked slowly by, teasing him with their feeling of infiniteness. After five minutes had passed, he saw nurses walking back to their stations. Wilson didn't come back. He didn't see any of his team walk by either. He rang for a nurse.

"Yes," a young brunette walked in.

"Could you page Dr. Wilson and tell him to come to this room, please?" He tried saying it in his most charming tone, but it didn't have the same affect with the raspy voice.

"No one's in the next room, Dr. House. I'll page him, but I think he's run down to the OR with your team."

"Page Dr. Cuddy, too, while you're at it." House then dismissed her. He could think of several things happening to Thirteen, all of which were effects from the car crash. Strokes, heart attacks, hemorrhages, etc., were common with the amount of trauma she had experienced. He needed to know the exact cause.

* * *

"Where the Hell have you been? I paged you twenty minutes ago!"

He was fuming. None of the nurses would allow him to know anything on the status of Thirteen, some citing confidentially with an air of vindictive pleasure at seeing him angry, others telling him the truth that _Dr_. Cuddy had issued a memo not to _indulge_ his _whims_. When he heard the sharp clicking of her heels against the hospital floor, his anger grew with each steady click.

"I was in a meeting and then swung by the OR to check on Hadley."

"Well? How is she?" He asked impatiently.

"She's fine. She'll be out of surgery in a couple hours."

"That's it? She codes blue and she's fine? That's bullshit."

Cuddy looked him straight in the eye.

"Her body's been through a lot. We knew she was going to go through complications. _This_ is one of them."

The way in which she said her last statement made it clear she didn't want to argue with him. He stared at her with narrowed eyes, studying her for any tells or deception. She had changed again from her emergency clothes to a clean navy, power suit with a light blue blouse. Her hair was pulled up stylishly instead of the messy ponytail she had earlier. She hadn't lied about the board meeting then. She would never approach them in clothes totally under three hundred dollars. Her back was straight when she had spoken and she stood a foot away from him. He swore he could feel the coldness wafting off of her.

"Where's Wilson?" He asked quietly. He hoped his new tone of voice made her more receptive to him.

"One of his patients needed him. He's been here all night as I'm sure you saw and _complimented_ him on."

She smirked and took a step towards him, reaching for his free hand. Their fingers intertwined and she squeezed his hand for a moment before easing her grip. Her hand was ice cold.

"You need to rest. Foreman's ordered an intravascular ultrasound for this evening. Chase will administer your anesthetic and help Foreman find whatever they're looking for."

"What are they looking for?"

"Atherosclerosis."

"Really," he snidely replied. "No wonder Foreman didn't tell me what he thought of; it doesn't—"

"It does fit," Cuddy cut in. "It's usually not diagnosed through family members because it's the underlying problem of cardiovascular disease which receives the same treatments."

"I would have had this for a while," he shot back.

"Not necessarily. You were a jock when you were young. It could have started progressing once you had started to ease off the exercise."

He studied her eager face.

"You think I've been undiagnosed with this since the infarction, don't you?" His demeanor was unusually calm. The more he sat and thought about it, the more atherosclerosis fit. He refused to continue that line of thought. Cuddy hadn't answered him. She didn't have to. The hope and weariness clearly showed on her face. Her eyebrows were knit together and her lips were pouted slightly. That diagnosis would wrap all of this into one tiny, nice bundle. It was never that simple.

"What time are they supposed to prep me?" He asked.

"They'll be here at eight," she said quietly. The weariness was now predominantly shinning through. "Scoot over. I can nap with you until they get here."

"Your ass is not going to fit in this bed," he dodged.

Her eyes widened minutely at his barb but she turned her head haughtily.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she scoffed and made to walk away. He held tight to her hand.

"I guess I can move over a little bit. Jeez, I'm supposed to be the one resting."

"You can rest with me. Budge up."

He moved over, making sure to make it seem it was done with the utmost reluctance. She took off her heels and sat daintily on the bed, swinging both legs up at once due to her constricting skirt, and covered herself quickly with his blanket. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close. He missed the feel of her warmth next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder and pressed her body into his side, one hand resting on his chest. He could smell the scent of the hospital shampoo in her hair and her own natural spiciness more fragrant without her specialty products. He glanced at the clock. They had less than two hours to rest. He closed his eyes and let her warmth and the rhythm of her breathing lull him into an uneasy sleep.

He never would have guessed he was lied to the whole evening.

* * *

**AN: Forgot to mention, this story only has one more chapter left. Thanks for reading, reviewing, setting alerts and favoriting! I truly appreciate it! Nothing makes me happier than waking up to a ton of emails. Well, waking up next to Hugh Laurie might make me happier, but that's unlikely. PSC. **


	12. Ch 12 Fin

**Disclaimer: I do not own BtVS slayer. I wish I did. I still don't own House either. Damn it. **

* * *

_**Buffy**__**: "Does it ever get easy?"**__**  
**__**Giles**__**: "You mean life?"**__**  
**__**Buffy**__**: "Yeah. Does it get easy?"**__**  
**__**Giles**__**: "What do you want me to say?"**__**  
**__**Buffy**__**: "Lie to me."**__**  
**__**Giles**__**: "Yes, it's terribly simple. The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after."**__**  
**__**Buffy**__**: "Liar." **_

_**-"Lie to Me" BtVS **_

* * *

He woke up in the evening again. He felt the soreness in his chest from the procedure Foreman had performed earlier, but he felt better. He couldn't see the light through his eyelids and the usual sounds of a busy hospital were absent. He felt something tickle his hand as he moved it. Finally opening his eyes he saw that it was, indeed, night. The security lights from outside bathed the room in a bluish glow. He saw Cuddy sitting next to him, half lying on the bed. Her hair was spread out over her, covering her face and, partially, his hand. She was asleep. The bags under her eyes had lessened. She looked peaceful. The hectic, frantic energy of the day before had gone, not to even leave its mark on her. He looked around the room. His chart was lying on the table next to him. Foreman confirmed his diagnosis. He'd have to go easy on the booze and be started on statins. He groaned as he imagined the gloating faces of Foreman and Chase. They'd never let him forget this. At least it wasn't Taub. He would have let himself die on principle before that happened.

Glancing back at Cuddy, he watched as a strand of hair fell directly over her nose, making it twitch irritably. He smiled to himself for a moment before sweeping the offending strand away from her face and to the back of her ear. He could see her face clearly now. Impulsively, he ran his fingers across her cheek, feather light, enjoying the feel of her soft skin. She stirred a little and opened one blurry eye.

"Hi," she said, her voice deep and sultry from sleep.

"Hi," he rasped. His throat still felt sore from the tube.

"I see you've already read your file."

"After trying to look down your shirt, it was the first thing I did."

"Well, we've already started your medication. You should start feeling better soon." She straightened up in her chair, stretching and popping the joints of her shoulders.

"I feel better already. Before we start even more small talk and avoidance, I want to know about Thirteen."

Instead of flinching or blanching as he suspected, Cuddy's face dropped. Her eyes turned glassy.

"She had been rushed to the OR as you saw before your procedure... She had complications."

He frowned, hating every moment Cuddy took to compose herself.

"Before you beat around it even more, is she alive?"

This time she did pale.

"Technically."

"What bullshit is—"

"She's brain-dead. She had a stroke which turned into a lacunar stroke and she was gone. We're keeping her on life support so her father can say good-bye."

"You knew about this before my procedure. Wilson knew and that's why he disappeared."

"He's always had a lousy poker face when it comes to hiding important matters from you."

"But not you."

"You would have done the same for me. You _have_ done the same for me. I didn't want you thinking about all the 'what ifs' during your procedure. Your body is already stressed out enough."

"Yeah, I was really focusing on getting better rather than wondering what the hell was going on."

Cuddy still looked unrepentant. She moved her hand to his and squeezed it in what he presumed was a sympathetic manner.

"There was _and is_ nothing you can do," Cuddy firmly stated. "You gave her all the help she needed. No one could have saved her. It was remarkable she lasted this long with her lifestyle, the accident, and her Huntington's ravaging her body."

"You should have told me."

"You should have told me you met with her while everyone around here who cares for her was left wondering where the hell she was and if she was even alive."

"I knew you'd throw that back in my face," he grunted, staring stonily at her.

"We're still playing our respective roles, House. I'm just stating the obvious."

"When will her father arrive?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Later on today. He's driving down from Ithaca."

They grew quiet, fingers caressing each other softly and, seemingly, unconsciously.

* * *

House was seated in a wheelchair outside of Thirteen's room. She was attached to a ventilator, the beep of the heart monitor the only sound permeating through the glass walls. A man stood next to her. He was slightly bent as he stood, but he gave off the image of a tall man. His white hair was thin and brushed back severely. He had the same green, sharp eyes of his daughter. He was in a simple suit; brown slacks, cream color button up shirt, with a matching corduroy jacket. House noticed he was probably in his late seventies due to the progression of arthritis in his gnarled hands.

One hand was holding his daughter's limply. House was reminded that he was a man who had lost all of his family. Every person was taken too early from this frail guy standing in front of him. House heard footsteps approaching him and turned his head to see Chase. Chase gave him a quick nod and stepped into the room. He shook Mr. Hadley's hand with both of his and gave his condolences. The old man smiled weakly in thanks and glanced down at his daughter. Chase asked him another question, _the question_, House knew by the old man's stricken look. His green eyes filled with tears but he did not let them fall. He shook his head jerkily and turned back to Thirteen. Chase looked out of the room, towards House, meeting his eyes before he turned to the ventilator. With quick, sure hands, Chase pushed all the buttons and knobs used to turn off the life-supporting machine.

He listened to the beep of the heart monitor slow and hold steady for more than ten minutes. He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw Cuddy standing next to him, looking into the room, solemnly. He turned back to the father and daughter and saw the monitor slow again. The beep, a sound so normal to a doctor, sounded like an obscene death bell, tolling down to that single, life ending breath.

Two more minutes and Thirteen lay still.

He heard Cuddy sniff loudly behind him. He watched as Chase wiped at his eyes before murmuring something to Mr. Hadley and practically fleeing from the room, not glancing at him or Cuddy as he passed. Cuddy squeezed his shoulder and told him she would be back. He knew she was going to go speak to his team. The Dean of Medicine was taking control of what was left of the situation.

House sat there and watched the man grieve. He stayed with his daughter for another half hour before turning his back on her and walking out of the room. His eyes were red rimmed and his face drawn. _A man defeated by life_, thought House, as the man approached him. He straightened in his wheelchair.

"Dr. House, I'm Jerry Hadley."

He held out his right hand and House shook it. The old man's hand was warm and his grip firm.

"I'm sorry for your loss," House said to him, as sincerely as he could.

The man nodded.

"Remy was a good girl, but so headstrong. I think she knew she was going to die young so she did anything she set her mind to, regardless of the consequences. My only wish was that I could have understood her more." Mr. Hadley took a deep, stuttering breath. "Last time I had seen her, we didn't part well."

"She was always very opinionated. She challenged all of those who worked with her. I wouldn't worry about her thinking the worse of you when she was awake. That would have been set to the way side by her."

House didn't know why he was telling the old man this. He didn't know why he felt it was necessary to share this piece of Thirteen that her father hadn't witnessed. He wasn't, by far, the type of doctor to comfort family but this man in front of him, brought it out of him.

Mr. Hadley nodded, unable to speak. He took one last look into the hospital room and turned, walking stiffly down the corridor. House thought he looked like he had aged another ten years after leaving that room. A nurse came up to him and wheeled him back to his room.

Only once he was settled back in his bed, did he let a tear silently fall down his cheek. His chest was tight and his mind racing with thoughts of the young, dead doctor in the next room.

* * *

House was released from the hospital three days later, a new prescription of statins in his pocket. Cuddy had driven him to his apartment for fresh clothes and a suit, and then back to her home. They laid in each other's arms, her head on his shoulder and his resting against hers. He had one arm around her shoulders and the other holding her arm to his chest, his fingers brushing against her skin.

"Are you sure you want to go to the funeral tomorrow?" Her voice was soft and quiet.

"No," he answered honestly. "I'm still going."

"Why?" Cuddy turned slightly in his arms, her body pressing closer to his.

"She would have come to mine."

"It can't be as plain as that."

"Why not?" His tone was slightly annoyed with her persistence.

"You liked her. She was tough and vulnerable and deep down, you really respected her. I wouldn't say you were kindred spirits, but she was like you. Definitely overly secretive."

Their blue eyes met in mirth for a moment before leaving each other's gaze.

"She was a good doctor," he grunted out a moment later. He tightened his grip on Cuddy, telling her without words that he appreciated her being there for him. He would never tell her something like that out loud.

"She was more than a good doctor," Cuddy whispered, the long day finally getting to her.

"She was a babe."

"House. Shut up."

* * *

The funeral was short and to the point. Jerry Hadley sat in front of the open grave and accepted all the condolences given to him with grace and dignity. House couldn't believe the man was still sitting up straight after all the world had thrown at him. The man's wife's grave was next to them along with an older brother House did not know anything of, Thirteen's secrets still coming to light. House picked out only distant cousins from the group of mourners, no close family living. Foreman, surprisingly, and Chase gave a decent eulogy. The usually emotionless neurologist shed a few tears but stoically pulled himself together.

After the service, mourners lined, one by one, next to the grave to drop in soil or roses over the brown casket. Cuddy did all the talking to Mr. Hadley as he just shook the man's hand for the final time and walked away. Cuddy looped her arm through his free one and kept in step with him through the tombstones, towards the street where she was parked.

"I'm glad to see you better despite this," she told him.

"People die every day. There's nothing more to it."

Cuddy squeezed his arm. "Liar."

"What? I'll hire another pretty doctor to walk around like lobby art and all will be well in Houseland."

"Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?"

"No, only in my head on the way here."

He saw her smirk out of the corner of his eye. They walked around a rather large statue of an angel, wings spread out with open arms and blank eyes.

"I'll bet it'll take you months to hire a new doctor because none of them could be her. Your mystery is over, House."

"We'll see."

For as grim as the mood was, the day was gorgeous. House inhaled the smell of freshly dug earth and the hint of rain to come. The sun was high above them but was not scorching or brutal. A light wind was coming in from the Atlantic, cool and calm. He heard Cuddy clear her throat, but not speak.

"Spit it out," he said without any harshness in his voice. "It's eating you alive to ask."

"Will you tell me next time you're in pain?"

"Yes." _No_.

He glanced down at her and saw her looking straight into his eyes. Hers were glassy and her face had gotten withdrawn.

"Are we always going to be like this? This back and forth between having to read between the lines or accepting the lies?"

"I expect so. You knew what you were getting into when you jumped me that night."

"I did not jump you. And can't you just try to comfort me for once?"

House took in a long, suffering sigh. Looking down once more at her, he could see under the façade of her questions, her longing to hear everything would return to normal, or at least to what was almost normal in the world of Princeton-Plainsboro. He smiled though.

"It'll be rainbows and puppy dogs. Patients will always get a diagnosis on the first try and live to see another fifty years. You'll win the Nobel for Medicine, which will translate into best ass once the other laureates see you…"

"House…" he could hear the thinning patience in her voice.

"Hm," he replied.

"I've forgotten you're a horrible liar."

_Fin_.

* * *

**Many Thanks to you all who have stuck by this story! I know this was cut a little short, but this was how I pictured the ending of the story to be. I have 2 stories coming up, one with the prologue already out and one first chapter that will be posted once I get it beta-ed. I've never worked on two stories at once, but the inspiration for these both won't leave me be. **

**Special thanks to Akemi1582 for being such a wonderful beta! She has stuck by my many new fics and for that, I am eternally grateful**.


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